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THE WOMAN, THE MAN, AND THE 
MONSTER 





THE WOMAN 


The Woman, the Man, 
and the Monster 


BY 

CARLTON DAWE 

Author of “The Grand Duke” “.4 Bride 
of Japan” “ Yellow and White” etc . 



NEW YORK 

THE STUYVESANT PRESS 

1909 


T 



Copyright, 1909, by 
THE STUYVESANT PRESS 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Coops Received 


^MAY 27 1809 



FOREWORD 


The plot of this novel is surprisingly unique. 
Some of the situations are so startling as fairly 
to take away the breath. The incident of the 
motor car in the first chapter does not seem to be 
anything unusual until the last paragraph of that 
chapter is reached. The difficult situation in which 
the Man finds the Woman is only the fore-runner 
of a series of such dramatic denouements as make 
the intrigue which is the main thread of the story 
interesting to an intense degree. The beauty of 
the heroine, her delightful mentality, her quick- 
ness of wit and perception, are all charming fea- 
tures of the story. And there are romantic hill- 
side love scenes, with kisses colored by the sunset, 
and the daintiest of wooings and cooings with 
always a mystery and a fearsome shadow in the 
background. F. F. 




BOOK I 


PERSEUS AND ANDROMEDA 




THE WOMAN, THE MAN, AND 
THE MONSTER 

i 

The car had stopped on the hillside for its 
owner to admire the fine view offered by a wide 
wooded valley, dotted here and there with 
patches of green field, which stretched away on 
his left until brought up sharp against the sky- 
line by a high range of distant hills. Up this 
valley, stirring the grasses ever so lightly, 
came the softest of southerly breezes, warm 
with the sun which sailed through a cloudless 
sky. No sign was there of man or beast. Just 
then the world was all his own. 

He opened wide his mouth and filled his 
lungs with a deep draught of the delicious air. 
He was a man of some thirty-five years of 
age, dark of complexion, straight of feature, 
with the wide, serious eyes of a poet. 

“What do you think of it, Ixion?” he asked, 
addressing the man at the wheel. 

1 


The Woman, the Man, arid the Monster 


“She took it like butter, sir,” replied Ixion, 
otherwise John Smales. 

Carey Vermont heaved a portentous sigh 
and straightway collapsed. 

“Go on,” he moaned. “Oh, Lord, go on!” 

Then a curious thing happened. There was 
a sudden crash, the engine raced like mad, 
making a grinding noise; but instead of going 
forward, the car began to run backward until 
pulled up by the brake. Ixion at once shut 
off his engine and sprang to the ground. 

“What’s the matter now?” inquired the 
owner in a resigned voice, peering over the side 
of the car. 

“Just what I’m wondering, sir. Something 
serious, I’m afraid.” 

Carey Vermont shook his head and smiled. 
He thanked Heaven that he was a philosopher. 
No man has a right to go motoring in a motor- 
car who is not. 

Smales opened the bonnet and peered in, but 
was quickly convinced that the trouble was not 
there. In the meantime, his master had alight- 
ed from the car and joined him. 

“It seemed to me,” he said deferentially, as 
2 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


became a tyro in these matters, “that the grind- 
ing noise came from somewhere underneath.” 

“Yes, sir, I think you’re right,” admitted 
Ixion. 

Without more ado he crawled under the 
car, remaining for some ten minutes or so on 
the broad of his back. When he crawled out 
again his face reflected much perturbation. 

“Yes, sir,” he announced gravely, “I’m 
afraid it is serious. The bevelled wheel is 
gone.” 

“Gone?” 

“Cracked!” 

“How the deuce could that have happened?” 

Smales shook his head. 

“Must have been sprung, sir.” 

He did not think it necessary to inform his 
master that the fault was probably his, through 
slipping the clutch in too quickly. Such con- 
fessions merely complicate matters and lead to 
no practical results. 

“What are we to do?” 

Ixion ’s face lengthened perceptibly. It was 
not by nature a long face, but the dropped 
jaw added considerably to its significance. 

3 


The Woman the Man , and the Monster 

“Can’t you mend it?” added the owner a 
little irritably. “Patch it up, or something?” 

“I’m afraid not. It will require a new 
wheel.” 

Mr. Vermont’s philosophy was likely to 
prove of service to him now. It was one thing 
to feel gloriously alone on the hilltop with a 
perfect twenty-horse-power car at his service, 
but another to find that car suddenly become 
no more useful than a scrap-heap, and the 
nearest town some dusty miles distant. 

“How far off is Guildford?” 

“About five miles, sir.” 

“Well, John” — it was always “John” when 
he was serious — “there’s nothing before you 
but a tramp. Cut along, like a good fellow. 
I suppose we shall have to tow this derelict 
into port?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Very well. You know what to do. Be 
as quick as you can. I’ll sit amid the ruins of 
Carthage and ruminate on the mutability of — 
motor cars.” 

Ixion swung away up the hill and disap- 
peared over the brow of it. There was a 
humorous twinkle in Vermont’s eyes as he con- 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


templated the ineffable car. But a short time 
ago they had dashed through Dorking in all 
the glory of whirring wheels, throbbing engine 
and odorous petrol. Hill or level had come 
alike to her; gluttonously, insatiably, she had 
eaten up the brown miles of roadway. This 
last hill she had taken “like butter,” as Ixion 
so admirably described it. Over in Aldershot, 
whither he was dashing, they might have to 
wait for dinner. Well, that could not be 
helped, either. The man who entrusts his des- 
tiny to the modern spirit of speed is putting 
a premium on delay. 

He lit a pipe and sat by the roadside, his 
feet buried in the rank grasses which grew 
profusely hereabouts. It was summer, sum- 
mer in all its abandoned glory. The earth 
teemed with sweet grasses and sweet smells; 
there was no room for another leaf on tree or 
shrub. Now it was a breath of the pines that 
reached him; occasionally the sweet, cloying 
taste of clover clung to lip and nostril. The 
pipe was a sacrilege on such a day. He knocked 
out the ashes and rose to his feet. 

With mock seriousness he apostrophised the 
car. She was a beautiful creature, the perfec- 
5 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


tion of graceful symmetry, her complexion red 
and gold. The unimaginative would have 
spoken of the latter as brass; but he was not 
of that kind. He had no need to be practical, 
for fortune had not been unkind to him. She 
did not harass him over the taxes, or constrain 
him to dream incessantly of butcher and baker 
— vulgar but most potent factors of destiny. 
In youth he had stuffed his head with the poets ; 
now that a few grey hairs were beginning to 
show above the ears he occasionally thought 
of more serious things. Even a poet cannot 
for ever bathe in the sacred rills of Parnassus. 

Moreover, there was no doubt that the car 
had broken down. That was the plain, un- 
varnished English of the situation. Pegasus 
had damaged a wing; Icarus had touched the 
_<Egean. But she was still beautiful in the sun, 
and showed no sign of wear, tear or damage. 

“It’s the canker in the rose,” he muttered. 
“What a pity!” 

He knew that Smales, the ever-worthy, 
might be trusted to use all despatch; also he 
knew that circumstances arise over which even 
an indomitable Smales has no authority. 
Especially do these occur where the irreverent 
6 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


passer-by can make a mock of suffering. Soli- 
tude seems to have been created for the mis- 
fortunes of motor-cars. 

The hilltop was not more than a hundred 
yards away, and insensibly he gravitated to- 
wards it. That point reached, he looked round 
at the wonderful stretch of hill and vale that 
faded away in the infinite blue. Only a few 
yards off, the road taken by Ixion dropped 
sheer into the valley beneath him, where it 
lost itself in a wilderness of foliage. He pic- 
tured that practical one trudging onward in 
heavy boots, and smiled rather curiously to 
himself. Then he looked back at his beauty 
as she lay dozing in the sun, her brasswork all 
ablaze, her complexion flawless. 

“I understand now why they call you ‘she,’ ” 
he mused. 

On his right a path opened across the sum- 
mit of the hill, and almost without thinking he 
entered it. For a little distance it twisted 
through various shades of undergrowth. Sum- 
mer was revelling here in all her wild luxuri- 
ance. As from the shore the sea always seems 
fuller when the tide is in, so to him just then 
did the world seem full of leaves and grasses 
7 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


and the smell of sweet things. Somewhere in 
the blue distance a lark was singing; between 
the pauses he caught the hum of multitudinous 
life. 

Just here the path began to dip a little, 
growing wilder and more tangled as it went; 
but still pursuing it in the same aimless, ob- 
jectless fashion, he presently found himself 
on the edge of a small plantation of silver 
beeches. Here he paused for a while. The 
track might lead to the other end of the county, 
for all he knew, and just then he recollected 
that he had left his beautiful one standing un- 
guarded by the wayside. However, he would' 
enter that clump yonder and then return. 

He stepped out, carelessly glancing to right 
and left of him, when on turning a sharp bend 
he came to a sudden standstill, and fairly 
gasped for breath. 

Before him, not a dozen yards away, was a 
woman, stark naked, bound to a smooth, 
straight sapling! Her hair, long and yellow, 
hung across her shoulders and partly hid her 
breasts. But she was looking at him, intensely, 
eagerly, with eyes that gleamed curiously from 
under heavy, level brows. 

8 


II 


He stood as one transfixed, then let his 
glance drop before hers. Usually he reckoned 
himself a man of resource, but in a situation of 
this nature he lost all power of initiative, al- 
most of thought. Her voice recalled him to 
his senses. 

“Please set me free,” she said. 

The voice was clear, cold almost, with a 
suspicion of irritability. He started like one 
awaking from a dream; then the blood rushed 
to his brain, his eyes, and almost blinded him. 

“I beg your pardon,” he stammered. 

It was odd how the commonplaces of life 
bubbled to the tongue. It seemed to him that 
had he searched for a year he could not have 
lighted on a phrase more inept. 

Without looking at her, though Heaven 
knows she seemed to fill the whole orbit of his 
vision, he stole round to the back of the sap- 
ling, opening his pocketknife with fingers that 
9 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster. 


trembled excessively. Her arms had been put 
round the slender trunk of the young tree, and 
the wrists bound together with a silken cord, 
probably some fastening of cloak or cape. At 
this he sawed nervously. Also he noticed that 
her wrists were swollen and bruised, due, no 
doubt, to violent efforts at freedom. Her shoul- 
ders looked red and angry where they had come 
in contact with the trunk. 

As he cut through the last strand he heard 
her utter a cry of relief, and a sudden, terri- 
fying thought flashed through his brain. Was 
she going to faint? Happily, she was not of 
the fainting kind. He turned his back on 
her as he spoke. 

“Where are your clothes?” 

“I haven’t any.” 

“Haven’t any!” he echoed, aghast. 

“No; they took them away.” 

“They?” 

“The men who did this.” 

“The villains!” 

She gave a low, contemptuous laugh. 

“Can’t you get me something — somewhere?” 

“Wait a minute. My car’s over there.” 

“Your car?” 


10 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster. 


“We had a breakdown. My man has gone 
into Guildford for help. I won’t be a second.” 

He made an oblique move for the pathway, 
still keeping his back to her. Then he positive- 
ly flew on his errand. 

In the car was a portmanteau containing a 
complete change of gear. This he hauled out 
excitedly, dashed up the hill again and along 
the path. As he neared the point once more 
he slackened his pace and looked carefully 
round. There was neither sight nor sign of 
her; but from the bushes on his right her voice 
came to him: 

“Leave it there. I’ll see what I can do.” 
He set it down. “Is it open?” she asked again. 
He stooped down and opened it. 

“Yes.” 

“Very well. Thanks, so much.” 

Swiftly he retreated towards the roadway, 
his mind whirling with conjecture. Below him 
his red and gold beauty still glistened in the 
sun. But he saw her only with his eyes. This 
new white and gold beauty now obsessed his 
vision. Who was she? How did she come to 
be in such a horrible predicament? In these 
11 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


days, too! It was monstrous, absurd! He 
almost wondered if he had been dreaming. 

He sat on the bank by the roadway and lit 
a cigarette. Phew! this was an anachronism! 
Such things did not really happen in these 
days; they could not. Surely he had been 
dreaming of wicked knights and maidens in 
distress? Dreaming! But there was no dream 
about it. There was the car, sure enough, and 
Smales — Smales was no mediaeval dream. 
Honest Ixion, with his honest, blunt face and 
his round, dog-like eyes. What a blessing he 
had not lighted on this discovery. How inex- 
pressibly shocked he would have been! 

What was she doing now? Getting into his 
things, no doubt. The thought caused a hu- 
morous line to form round the corner of his 
mouth. There was a complete outfit in the 
portmanteau. Would she know how to put the 
things on? Good heavens! if he had only 
known! But of course he didn’t. How should 
he? 

The sound of dragging footsteps caused 
him to spring hastily to his feet and as quickly 
glance round. A singular and most grotesque 
figure came slowly towards him through the 
12 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


leaves ; a quaint, white-faced, yellow-haired boy 
in clothes many sizes too large for him. The 
coat hung low in the neck and shoulders and 
seemed as though it could easily hold two of 
her; the trousers were unspeakable! Though 
she had carefully turned up the extremities, 
they still sagged and hung about her in the < 
most revolting fashion. Even as it was, she was 
holding up the horrible garment with both 
hands. Seeing the excruciating look of won- 
der on his face, she smiled. 

“You forgot the braces,” she said. 

“So I did. How absurd of me! A thousand 
pardons.” But as he only had one pair, which 
he was wearing at the time, he forbore a fuller 
explanation. 

“The shoes are rather large,” she said plain- 
tively, looking down at them with a sad shake 
of the head. 

He confessed it. They did look monstrous, 
absurd. Yet he had once thought them rather 
smart. They were something special in the 
way of patent-leather, something of which his 
Bond Street bootmaker had been inordinately 
proud. Certainly, they looked grotesque 
13 


The Woman J the Man , and the Monster 


enough on those little feet, encircling those 
slim ankles. 

“They’re horrible,” he said seriously. “I 
apologise.” 

“But better than nothing.” 

He would not say so. That, however, was 
a matter of opinion. She had certainly chosen 
his prettiest socks. 

“Is that your car?” she asked, pointing down 
the road, where the Spirit of Speed, her wings 
folded, lay dozing in the sun. 

“Yes. Do you think you can walk so far?” 

“Of course.” 

He gave her his .hand and helped her down 
the embankment to the road. Then she tod- 
dled along beside him, the loose shoes making 
a curious, scraping sound as they trailed over 
the gravelled road, yet beating a fantastic 
rhythm in his whirl of thought. Neither spoke. 
Certainly, she may not have wished to, and as 
certainly he was thinking of too many things 
to make commonplace enquiries. Just then 
any question might have sounded impertinent. 
All the same, he was fairly bubbling with curi- 
osity. 

“What a handsome car!” she said. 

14 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster, 


If this was not an effort to put him at his 
ease he was indeed a dolt. And all the time 
he had been wondering how he could best miti- 
gate the situation, render it least unpleasant 
for her. Duly admiring her tact, he at once 
plunged into the merits and demerits of motor- 
cars. She listened amiably, and upon occasion 
interpolated an illuminating remark. Evident- 
ly, she knew something of the subject. His 
amazement deepened. 

He helped her aboard, saw her comfortably 
seated, and spread a rug across her knees. 
She smiled her thanks, but said nothing. Yet 
her eyes — deep, dark-blue eyes — seemed in- 
tently to watch his every movement. To him 
they looked curiously dark in so fair a face. At 
a little distance they appeared almost black. At 
first he thought they were brightly humorous, 
then it seemed to him that they were mocking. 
The mouth, too — a full, red, mocking mouth — 
was it also laughing, or was it merely his fancy? 
He could not be sure. A longer look assured 
him that the eyes were clear and frank. And 
then he discovered, or thought he discovered, 
the cause of that strange concentration of gaze. 
Her brows, in curious contrast with her hair, 
15 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


were dark and heavy, and instead of being 
delicately arched, ran almost straight. 

“I’m afraid I can offer you no tea,” he said, 
opening a light luncheon basket; “but if a weak 
whiskey and soda ” 

“Admirable!” she said. “You are very 
kind.” 

He handed her a plate of sweet biscuits, and 
then mixed the whiskey and soda. Without 
waiting to say grace, she immediately began 
to munch. 

“I’m literally starving.” 

“How long were you — there?” he ventured 
to ask. 

“I don’t know. An hour, I think; perhaps 
two — three. It seemed like eternity.” 

He looked at her with eyes that questioned 
— begged; but she gave no sign of understand- 
ing that look, nor did she make further con- 
fession. Her little white teeth bit into the bis- 
cuits and cracked them with gusto. 

“I wish I could do more for you,” he said. 

“I don’t see how you could really do more. 
I dread to think what might have happened 

if ” 

“If?” 


16 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“Oh, well, it didn’t, so we needn’t discuss 
it. You have mixed this whiskey and soda to 
perfection. It tastes like champagne.” 

“You must permit me to drive you home,” 
he said stolidly. 

“Home!” she echoed. “That’s a long way 
off. And, in any case, I thought you told me 
the car had broken down?” 

“True; but I am expecting my man back 
with help.” He looked at his watch. “He 
ought to be near Guildford now, if he hasn’t 
gone to sleep on the way.” 

She laughed. Somehow he thought it 
strange that she should laugh. Also, she may 
have observed that look of respectful interroga- 
tion, for the corners of her mouth dropped sud- 
denly, and her heavy white lids drooped lan- 
guidly. 

“Of course, you want to know all about me?” 

“I am entirely at your service,” he answered. 

“What if I cannot tell you?” 

“I am still entirely at your service.” 

“Polite, but perfunctory.” 

“On the contrary, I am deeply interested.” 

Slowly the heavy lids rose, and she looked 
at him with eyes that had neither fear nor 
17 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


shame. But there was a deep, searching light 
in them of which he suddenly became vaguely 
aware. 

“You do not know who I am?” 

“In a way — yes.” 

“In a way?” The glance grew instantly 
acute. 

“I have read of you.” 

“Read of me?” 

“It happened in Ethiopia.” 

“In Ethiopia?” 

He was smiling. Her straight brows com- 
pressed in a vain endeavour to read his mean- 
ing. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Andromeda.” 

“O-o-h! Are you a poet, Mr.——-” 

“Vermont — Carey Vermont. No, I dare not 
hope so.” 

“Was it not Perseus who saved Andromeda 
from the monster?” 

“Yes.” 

“The parallel is perfect. You, also, have 
saved me from a monster.” 

“It is iniquitous — — ” he began hotly. 


18 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


“Perfectly — in every detail. But what can 
you do with a monster — hut kill him?” 

The little teeth came together; dark flashes 
of hate shot out of the slumbrous eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered apologetically. 

“It is a natural curiosity, Mr. Vermont. I 
only regret that I cannot satisfy it.” 

“I hope you do not think so ill of me?” 

“Naturally, I would think well of men. No! 
forgive me. I did not mean that.” 

“I admit justification.” 

“It was my misfortune to meet with a mon- 
ster.” 

“It will be my pleasure to help you, if you 
will permit me. Tell me how I can be of 
service.” 

“Tell me what Perseus did with Androm- 
eda.” 

He smiled. “I suppose he took her home.” 

“Exceedingly prosaic,” she remarked. 

“But natural.” 

“I wonder.” 

He rather liked the native wit of her. Such 
a woman might be very strong upon occasion. 

“It is a little awkward, this accident to the 
19 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 

car,” he said; “but if Ixion returns with an- 
other ” 

“Ixion?” 

“His name is not really Ixion, but Smales — 
John Smales. It may not be classic, but it’s 
most respectable.” 

“A man with a name like John Smales ought 
to be the pink of propriety.” 

“He is.” 

“Do you think it would do for him to 
know?” 

“I don’t. John has round, serious eyes and 
a quite suburban intelligence. He ought to 
be in the City and leave at Ealing.” 

“What will he say if he sees me like this?” 
! She spread out her hands in protest. He 
noticed that they were small, very white, and 
beautifully modelled. Also, that they seemed 
whiter by contrast with the cruel weals round 
the wrists. 

“He will say nothing, being much too well 
bred; but what he will think!” 

“We must circumvent this dragon of pro- 
priety.” 

The eyes were lazily laughing now; also, a 
delicate colour had come to her cheeks. And 
20 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


this coupling of herself with him was the one 
touch needed to remove mountainous obstruc- 
tions. 

“I am in your hands — Andromeda.” 

She smiled — perhaps prophetically. But he 
saw only the bewildering curve of lip, the faint 
flush that, as he gazed, deepened the wonder 
of her skin. 

“Then we must prepare to receive him. Not 
for worlds would I cause a blush to darken 
the pure brow of British respectability.” 

This jarred on him; he would rather she had 
not said it. But he was glad she could not 
plumb the profundities of his philistinism. 
Philistinism! He, Carey Vermont, a private 
in the great Suburban Army! A private — ■* 
nay, a colonel, at least, a veritable major-gen- 
eral! Herein was the vast superiority of wom- 
an. She had no petty prejudices, and not 
the shadow of a scruple. 

“Do you know,” she said, “I think you ought 
to fetch that portmanteau. He might miss it.” 

Colloquial commonplaces lost all their vul- 
garity on pretty lips. He thought it a sugges- 
tion of superabundant wisdom. The conjunc- 
21 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


tion of the practical with the transcendental 
is one of woman’s most bewitching charms. 

“I will,” he said. “And, oh, by the way, if 
you should feel cold you might get into that 
fur coat.” 

She smiled a due appreciation of his fore- 
sight. He turned away and walked up the 
hill. 


22 


Ill 


In all the tales of rescue that he had ever 
read he could not remember one in which the 
hero, in spite of direful stress, had found his 
heroine anything but a delightful and felici- 
tous charge. In books the most amazing situa- 
tions seemed to right themselves automatically ; 
all trifles were ignored, and only the broad 
issues thought worthy of consideration. But 
in reality trifles have a pernicious habit of 
sprouting until they assume a monstrous 
growth. The fungus that grows in a night 
is as nothing to the situation that grows in a 
moment. Man, and incidentally woman, is 
still the most bewildering product of nature. 

Who was she, and how did she come to be 
in such a plight? If she would not tell him 
it was obvious he could not ask; but what in 
the name of conjecture was he to do with her? 
A lady, too; of that there could be no ques- 
tion. Not, perhaps, a lady as one understands 

2a 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


the modern application of the word, with its 
cringing affectations and false modesties, but 
something bigger, bolder — as Cleopatra might 
have been a lady, or Marguerite de Valois. 
Certainly there was no pretence either of glory 
or of shame. Life was a play in which the sit- 
uations were arranged with exquisite cruelty, 
and men and women but a set of mimes who 
obeyed the rules set down for them by the 
Great Author. Sometimes the drama was 
comic, but oftener tragic. Men and women 
were forced into comicalities by the sheer bru- 
tality of life. It was the only thing that saved 
them from despair. 

There was that in this situation, however, 
which appealed both to his philosophy and his 
sense of humour; nor could he accept as a 
tragedy that in which she appeared to see the 
chief elements of the comic. Of the two the 
occasion seemed to cause her the less concern. 
And if she, the chief sufferer, should approach 
the incident with such apparent nonchalance, 
how could he play the part of the heavy father? 
Moreover, he was supremely conscious of not 
being suitable to such a role, and it always had 
painful associations. 


24 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


But your true dreamer is always the most 
practical of persons, else he would never shape 
his dreams* This adventure had stepped down 
from the realms of fancy into the bright sun- 
light of reality, and of a truth it seemed the 
better for so doing. If a little bewildered, he 
was not quarrelling with fate; but the sensa- 
tion of novelty was a trifle disconcerting. 

Also, she was a quaintly beautiful creature. 
He was not sure that she would take life too 
seriously. Those mocking lips were as yet 
merely a suggestion of an infinitely singular 
nature; the mocking glance, was it not indica- 
tive of a subtle and keen intelligence? Never- 
theless, those eyes were wonderful. He had 
always been a student of woman’s eyes, and a 
great lover of them. Not alone were they the 
lamps of the soul, the leaves of intelligence, 
but they were something more than this — the 
epitome and essence of that subtle distinction 
of sex which embraces all and more than is 
expressed by the term feminine. Women have 
wonderful eyes, nor would he admit that the 
least prepossessing of them was wholly with- 
out significance. For someone there is always 
a ray of light. 


25 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


And Andromeda — for so in his mind he 
called her — had eyes that might have bewil- 
dered even the unresponsive monster. Uncon- 
sciously he found himself sighing for the sim- 
pler classic days. Such adventures should not 
befall a hero in these times. They unmanned 
one. Perseus, gazing, grew instantly en- 
amoured of her loveliness: Carey Vermont, un- 
gallantly, had to turn his back on her. What 
a century! 

Thinking thus, he approached the slender 
sapling to which she had been bound, and stood 
for quite a little time in contemplation before 
it. Then suddenly he leant forward and kissed 
the place against which her body had rested. 
Contact with the smooth bole thrilled him in- 
conceivably. He looked up, and there was 
laughter in his eyes. 

The cord with which she had been bound lay 
where he had dropped it. Stooping down, he 
picked it up and slipped it into his breast pock- 
et. Odd that he should be trembling so! What 
will-o’-the-wisp was this that fluttered like fire 
through his brain? 

Andromeda! 

Not until he turned to go did he remember 
26 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


the real object of this journey. Eagerly he 
looked round, but the portmanteau was no- 
where to be seen. Then suddenly he recollect- 
ed that her voice had come to him from the 
bushes yonder, and thither he went, curiously 
aglow with a singularly inexplicable sensation. 

Screened by the clump of bushes was a little 
grass plot, and there he found the portmanteau, 
open, its contents scattered all over the place 
—here a discarded coat, there a shirt, while 
socks and other necessary garments lay ex- 
posed to the view. He smiled slowly to himself 
as he gathered them up. Tidiness was evidently 
one of the dull virtues at whose shrine she did 
not worship. Yet it was not without some 
amusement that he conjured up the picture of 
her arraying. All things considered, she had 
done remarkably well — though he had left her 
neither braces nor hairpins. And what won- 
derful hair she had! 

When he returned to the car he found that 
she had arrayed herself in the fur coat as he 
had suggested, and a quaint little figure she 
looked in its voluminous folds. She saw the 
smile on his face and greeted him with a seri- 
ous shake of the head. 

27 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Like charity,” she said, “it covers a multi- 
tude of sins. You are so large, Perseus.” 

“I’m so sorry ” he began. 

“Please don’t apologise; it’s a good fault. 
I hate little men. But I did look a hideous 
fright. Besides, I was afraid of shocking 
Smales. You’ve no idea how the thought of 
him appalls me. But with this coat on, and a 
cap and goggles ” She looked at him ap- 

pealingly, making a quaint little mouth. 

“Excellent,” he answered, and forthwith 
produced both goggles and cap. The latter, 
like all his other things, was much too large 
for her, but it confined admirably her wealth 
of hair. The huge goggles effectually con- 
cealed her identity. 

“Now tell me,” she asked, “what do I look 
like? Positively hideous, eh?” 

“On the contrary, more delightfully myste- 
rious than ever.” 

“Ah, so it is the mystery that still seems of 
such preponderating importance? I thought 
men were not curious.” 

“You will admit that the circumstances are a 
little unusual.” 

“Is that a fault?” 


28 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“On the contrary, it is that which makes the 
occasion so infinitely charming.” 

“What if I should be a reincarnation of her 
whom you rescued so long ago?” 

“A delightful suggestion,” he assented. “I 
shall try to believe it.” 

“Would it be so difficult?” 

“I think not.” 

“Frankly, you are really a much nobler hero 
than Perseus. He bargained with her father 
before setting her free. You made no condi- 
tions. I don’t think he could have been a gen- 
tleman.” 

Her naive suggestion tickled him immense- 
ly. He had never thought of the ancients as 
gentlemen. Curious, that! 

He looked about him at the still perfection 
of the scene. Westward the sun was begin- 
ning to sink towards the hills ; the valley be- 
neath him was already becoming a blur of pur- 
ple shadow. Somewhere in the distance a bird 
piped sweetly; away towards the sun sailed a 
hawk on steady wing. 

“When do you expect the redoubtable 
Smales?” she asked suddenly. Before answer- 
ing he looked at his watch. 

29 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“He should be here by this.” 

“And then?” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“What are you going to do with me?” 

The blue eyes were strangely, curiously in- 
sistent. There was a half-mocking smile on 
the lips. 

“I am entirely at your service,” he said in a 
scrupulously polite, yet exceedingly matter- 
of-fact tone. “What would you like me to 
do?” 

“Obviously I have little choice.” 

“You have a home somewhere— friends?” 

“Ah!” She spread out her hands. “These 
are hardly the clothes in which one could re- 
turn to one’s friends. I might have to ex- 
plain.” 

“And you don’t wish to?” he asked, looking 
hard at her. 

“No!” 

She said this so decidedly, and with such 
evident intent, that he could not pursue the 
topic. 

“Then dare I make a suggestion?” 

“It is what I have been waiting for.” 

He smiled at the frankness of her reply, 
30 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


though the situation still required some deli- 
cacy of handling. 

“It was my intention to go to Guildford. 
Does the idea meet with your approval?” 

“Perfectly. Indeed, it seems to me there is 
no other alternative. I must get some clothes.” 

“Yes, that seems imperative. But ” He 

smiled. She saw that the smile was not wholly 
free of embarrassment. 

“But you don’t quite know how you are go- 
ing to explain my presence to Smales? It’s 
really quite simple. Just about here I was 
thrown from my bicycle, and, being unable to 
continue the journey on foot, you very kindly 
offered to give me a lift.” 

“In my broken-down car?” 

“Oh, of course, you knew Smales was re-, 
turning with another.” 

“And your broken bicycle?” 

“That was carted back to Dorking.” 

“I see.” 

He appreciated her ready invention, though 
it did not seem quite satisfactory as to detail. 
Yet he did not expect a woman to concern her- 
self over such a trivial matter. Not having 
the slightest doubt as to the practicability of 
31 


The W oman, the Man, and the Monster 


the plan, she looked at him with unclouded 
eyes. 

“And the rest?” he asked. 

“The rest! What rest?” 

“Do I know you? Are we related?” 

“Oh, of course. I am your cousin twice re- 
moved. Do you mind?” 

“I am charmed. And your name?” 

“Brown — Andromeda Brown.” 

“A delightful conjunction. But don’t you 
think we might concoct something less obvi- 
ous? I grant without demur that it is a solid 
name, and most respectable, but to me it seems 
sadly to lack the imaginative quality. Smales 
might think you don’t look like a Brown. 
Moreover, he is probably aware that I have no 
relatives of that name.” 

“Carey, then, or Vermont — or anything you 
like.” 

“Carey is admirable. I have a maternal 
uncle of that name. Also, as he is an old 
bachelor, I am rather hopeful of him.” 

“Are you also a bachelor?” 

“Unfortunately, I have never been able to 
induce any woman to forego her freedom for 
my sake.” 


32 


The Woman, the M an, and the Monster 


“Have you tried?” She was smiling now, 
as though in thorough enjoyment of his melan- 
choly confession. 

“Persistently. Those whom one wants never 
seem to want one, and all the rest are shadows.” 

“To you?” 

“I would not presume so greatly. Ah, 
what’s that?” 

The hoarse, weird tooting of a car was heard 
in the distance. He looked up the hill in the 
direction of the sound. Presently it came 
again and then again, each time swiftly nearer. 
Then on the other side of the hill the humming 
was plainly heard, and quickly the car itself 
came in view. Smales was sitting beside the 
driver. 

“Ixion?” she said. 

“Yes.” 

She adjusted the goggles and drew the peak 
of her cap well down. 


33 


IV 


The car that had been brought to the rescue 
was a rakish, powerful-looking beast, which, 
judging from its untidy condition, seemed as 
though it worked too hard to be clean. Smales 
alighted and approached Carey Vermont. 

“I’m afraid I am rather late, sir,” he began, 
“but when I reached the garage at Guildford 
this car was out.” 

“That’s all right, Smales. Only sorry you 
were put to the inconvenience of such a tramp.” 

Rather uncertain was the glance with which 
Ixion favoured his master. Consideration, 
couched in the politest of terms, almost invari- 
ably confused him. Nor had he yet grown ac- 
customed to this somewhat eccentric employer. 
The last man for whom he had driven was a 
retired stockbroker with a domineering wife 
and a dearth of h’s, who had never for a mo- 
ment allowed him to forget the distance be- 
tween them. Though a good man, Smales was 
34 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


not without his modicum of human nature, and 
whereas an accident to the car had often proved 
a source of secret pleasure, he now regarded 
such a catastrophe as little short of calamitous. 

“I suppose she’s strong enough to tow us?” 
enquired Vermont. 

“Forty horse-power,” answered Ixion 
promptly; “do her sixty-five — easy.” 

“Eminently satisfactory.” But Smales was 
looking at the quaint figure in their own car, 
a questioning look, though entirely free of as- 
tonishment. 

“Yes, another passenger for you, John,” 
was the explanation. “Met with an accident 
halfway down the hill. Bicycle smashed.” 

“Is the gentleman hurt, sir?” 

“It’s not a gentleman, John, but a lady. 
Curiously enough, a cousin of mine. I am go- 
ing to take her on to Guildford.” 

John Smales nodded as though he under- 
stood. There was not even a suspicion of 
doubt in his round, brown eyes. 

For the next ten minutes the two mechanics 
were busy affixing the tow lines, etc., Carey 
Vermont in the meantime explaining to An- 
dromeda the process by which they hoped to 
35 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


reach their destination. Her eager eyes beamed 
at him through the unbecoming goggles; he 
noticed the curl of the sensitive red mouth, the 
singular whiteness of the little teeth. He was 
still wondering at it all when Smales respect- 
fully announced that they were ready to start. 
Vermont instantly took his seat by Androm- 
eda, and Ixion mounted to his post by the 
wheel. 

“Are you ready?” asked the man on the 
forty horse-power. 

“All ready,” answered Ixion. 

Slowly they mounted the summit of the hill. 
The sun had already sunk behind the distant 
treetops, and great dark-purple shadows were 
enwrapping the valleys far and near. Androm- 
eda settled herself back on the seat and 
heaved a sigh of content. 

“Are you cold?” asked Perseus. 

“Good gracious, no!” 

An odd smile played round the comers of 
her mouth. Ridiculous fellow! Did he think 

she was still And then the smile deepened, 

and had he been looking into the goggles he 
would have seen the most amazing lights in 
36 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


her blue eyes. But he would have seen no 
shadow of shame, regret or fear. 

“It will be dark when we reach Guildford,” 
he said presently. 

“How opportunely things fall out. Dark- 
ness will hide the singularity of my costume.” 

“So it will. I never thought of that.” 

“That’s so like a man. I don’t believe men 
ever think.” 

“Oh, yes, they do,” he said. “To tell you 
the truth, I’ve been thinking very deeply.” 

“About what?” 

“Just exactly how we are going to man- 
age.” 

“To manage?” 

“About that singular costume of yours. You 
see, you have nothing. It is a bit awkward, 
isn’t it?” 

“Not nearly as awkward as it might be.” 

“We had better stop at the first ladies’ shop 
and get you something. Then I can leave you at 
the hotel and hunt up diggings for myself and 
Ixion.” 

“Won’t he think it strange?” 

“How?” 


37 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“You cannot very well leave your cousin in 
the lurch.” 

“I never thought of that.” 

“What did I tell you?” 

Her low laugh rose above the humming of 
the wheels. He looked at her and smiled. 

“Then you don’t mind?” he asked. 

“Not in the least. Why should I?” 

“Really, there is no occasion. I have no 
doubt we shall adjust matters quite satisfac- 
torily.” 

“Quite.” 

The forty horse-power was fully equal to the 
extra strain. Moreover, the run into Guild- 
ford is an easy gradient, and on the levels she 
fairly purred with pride as she careered over 
the dusty road. With the setting of the sun, 
clouds came up out of the south and west, 
threatening rain, but this luckily held off, or 
blew over. The clouds, however, added a deep- 
er darkness to the summer night, which was not 
without its advantage. 

As they drew up before the principal hotel 
Carey Vermont alighted, entered the house and 
made inquiries. He wanted rooms for himself 
and his cousin, a sitting-room, if they had one, 
38 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster. 


also a bedroom for his chauffeur. A serious 
accident had happened to the car, he went on 
to explain. But the young lady in the office 
did not seem at all interested in accidents. 
Probably she had grown accustomed to them. 
She reeled off certain numbers. Would the 
gentleman like to inspect the rooms? 

“I suppose they’re your best?” he asked. 
She assured him they were. 

He went out and explained the situation to 
Andromeda. Then he turned to Smales. 

“We are staying here for the night. I have 
arranged a room for you. Examine the car 
well and report to me in the morning.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Carefully he helped Andromeda to alight 
and conducted her within. The barmaid, clerk, 
or whatever her calling, was waiting for them 
at the door. If she even thought, which is 
doubtful, that Andromeda looked a queer bun- 
dle, it seemed to occasion her no surprise. Year 
in year out, some weird creatures alighted from 
motor-cars at that house. 

She led them upstairs to their sitting-room, 
which was on the first floor overlooking the 
street. 


39 


The Woman the Man , awd Monster 


“You would like something to eat?” she 
asked in automatic fashion. 

“An excellent idea. You will serve it here?” 

“That will be extra.” 

“Naturally.” 

“Your rooms are on the other side of the 
passage. Fourteen and fifteen.” 

“Thanks. You will have the baggage 
brought up?” 

“At once, sir.” 

When she was gone Andromeda removed her 
goggles, but she still kept the cap on. Her 
first movement was towards a large gilt mir- 
ror which hung over the mantelpiece. 

“What a sight I look!” 

He smiled. It was the way of a woman, and, 
after all, he liked her none the less for her 
vanity. 

“I will go and look at the rooms,” he said. 

He found they were en suite , with a com- 
municating door. Choosing for her the better 
and more tastefully furnished one, he locked 
the door, leaving the key on her side. Then he 
brought her to inspect it. Surreptitiously her 
eye fell on the door and the key. 

“You are very kind,” she said. 

40 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“I am afraid it’s the best that can be done.” 
He looked at her and she noticed the growing 
embarrassment of his glance. “Perhaps that 
young lady will be able to help us?” he sug- 
gested. 

“But wouldn’t that look suspicious? How 
do I come to be without things of my own? 
And I have no money, either.” 

“Please do not let that distress you. The 
unfortunate thing is that all the shops seemed 
to be shut as we came along.” 

“Did you notice that?” she exclaimed, her 
eyes shining. 

“It was the first thing I did notice. It must 
be early closing day.” 

Again she smiled, but this time with a deep- 
er meaning. Even his tame, commonplace con- 
clusion could not rob her of thought. 

“In the morning, of course,” he continued. 
“But to-night?” 

“To-night will pass,” she said. 

“You’re frightfully brave, Andromeda.” 

“I need to be.” 

“Excuse me one moment,” he said. “Per- 
haps we shall be able to do something better 
for you than that fur coat. 

41 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


He dashed from the room, leaving her look- 
ing after him with wondering eyes. A smile 
passed over her lips, her head went up, her 
chin stuck out, showing the perfect line of 
throat. But she betrayed agitation of no kind 
whatever, and as her glance wandered curious- 
ly round the room it again fell on the door and 
the key. With a quick, supple movement she 
reached it, tested it. There was a bolt on the 
door, and this also had been driven home. Her 
eyes softened marvellously, and the mocking 
curl of the lip grew almost plaintive. 

Quickly he returned, a somewhat gorgeous 
bath-robe flung across his arm. 

“It’s all I have,” he said, holding it out. 
“Do you think it will do?” 

“Splendidly!” she cried. “You are ex- 
tremely kind.” 

“Nothing at all, I assure you. Sorry I can’t 
do more. Shall I say dinner in a quarter of 
an hour?” 

“If you will be so good.” 

He left her and returned to the sitting-room, 
where a rusty-faced country waiter, in a loose, 
shining suit of rusty black, was sloppily laying 
the table. From him Carey Vermont learnt 
42 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


certain particulars respecting certain shops. 
His projected visit would have to be postponed 
until the morning. 

“I suppose you are quite ready, sir,” said 
the man as he stood by the door. 

“I will ring.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

Five minutes later Andromeda entered, and, 
although the gown was many sizes too large 
for her, she contrived to look wonderfully at- 
tractive in it. Her hair was dressed with sur- 
prising neatness (he wondered where she had 
got the hairpins, brushes, etc.), and a powder- 
puff of some description had been brought into 
requisition with artistic effect. 

“It was the best I could do,” she said, meet- 
ing his glance with an apologetic smile. 

“Such ingenuity is bewildering.” 

“Well, you see, I was really too tired to 
unpack.” 

“Naturally. May I ring for the dinner?” 

“If you will.” 

They sat facing each other across the little 
table, and he noticed that when the light flick- 
ered on her head each massive coil of hair shone 
like a bar of red gold. The voluminous robe 
43 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 

completely hid the clothes beneath, but when 
the huge sleeves fell back from her little hands 
he saw the livid weals round the wrists. 

“Yes,” she said, holding them out; “a pain- 
ful reminder. But they, too, will fade.” 

“Like the memory of this day?” 

“Only that part of it which one wishes not 
to remember. These cutlets are quite delicious.” 

He smiled as he raised his glass. 

“To our better acquaintance, Andromeda.” 

“Do you think it will be desirable?” 

“I cannot doubt it.” 

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It all 
seems like a dream. Can you imagine my feel- 
ings when I was tied to that tree?” 

'“I think so. But why refer to it, since it 
distresses you?” 

“Because I must not permit myself to for- 
get.” 

“Is that wise?” 

“Wise! I often wonder where wisdom ends 
and foolishness begins. We all know the for- 
mulas of each, but do we follow them in prac- 
tice?” 

“Should we be happier if we did?” 

44 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“I think so; yes, on the whole I should say 
so — assuredly. One cannot have it both ways.” 

He smiled at the colloquialism, but as she 
was apparently unconscious of it his face quick- 
ly assumed its accustomed gravity of de- 
meanour. 

“Yet there are not a few, even in this world, 
who closely approach that ideal of perfection.” 

“Perhaps. Have you ever hated anyone?” 
she asked suddenly. 

“I have disliked some people intensely.” 

“But that is not the same thing. People 
should either be hated or loved. To dislike 
them is merely to show that they are unworthy 
of hate or love. Indifferent people, the people 
whom one dislikes, should simply be ignored.” 

“I endeavour to ignore them.” 

“And when that cannot be — when one is 
forced to stronger measures?” 

“Philosophy might teach us the futility of 
extremes.” 

She smiled. “When did you ever know 
philosophy to sway a woman’s whims? Are 
you a philosopher, Perseus?” 

“I have based much of my conduct on phi- 
losophy.” 


45 


The Woman , the 31 an, and the 3Ionster 


Her smile deepened. 

“This is excellent wine,” she murmured as 
she balanced the glass between finger and 
thumb. 

“Let me help you to some more.” 

“No, thanks. My philosophy warns me to 
withstand the fascination.” 

Coffee followed in due course, and with it 
came the cigarettes. He offered her one, which 
she took without demur. 

“You are not shocked?” 

“I belong to the new century,” he said. 

“The real Andromeda would not have 
smoked.” 

“She belonged to such a benighted age.” 

“And she has been dead such a long time. 
Lucky Andromeda!” 

“Luckier we! The earth is too green and 
pleasant just now not to see it.” 

“And yet— — ” 

“Precisely. But I always think it more sat- 
isfactory to know that the grass is still beneath 
me.” 

Again the smile came back to her face. 

“Perhaps your philosophy is not without 
some merit.” 


46 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“I should be inconceivably distressed if I 
thought it was not. But, to leave philosophical 
speculation for the moment and return to prac- 
tical matters, though you look exceedingly 
charming in that uncouth robe, it is scarcely 
a costume in which you would care to be seen 
out of doors. What do you say — shall I go 
shopping for you in the morning, or would you 
prefer to send one of the maids?” 

“Would you?” 

“Of course.” 

“To send one of the maids might arouse sus- 
picion.” 

“So I was thinking.” 

“But to impose on your good nature.” 

“Have I not placed my services at your dis- 
posal? If you will permit me.” 

“I am sure the real Perseus could not have 
been so kind.” 

“Oh, he was a foreign bounder.” 

“Who made a bargain.” 

“I make none.” 

“If I had been Andromeda I should never 
have forgiven him for that. It was horrid.” 

“What can you expect from a foreigner?” 

47 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Precisely. And you haven’t even asked 
me who I am.” 

“You do not wish to tell me?” 

“I cannot. But I am very grateful. You 
do believe that I appreciate your kindness?” 

“It has been a pleasure, Andromeda, so 
please remember that the obligation is all on 
my side.” 

“Thanks, so much.” She held out her hand. 
“Good-night, Perseus.” 

“Good-night, Andromeda.” 

He opened the door for her and she passed 
out. Lying across her bed was a quaintly 
patterned sleeping-suit. A curious little smile 
crossed her face as she took the thing up and 
examined it. Then surreptitiously she pressed 
it to her lips. 


48 


Y 


No one but ourselves can rightly appreciate 
our follies. The philosophy of Carey Vermont 
might have warned him that he was embark- 
ing on the unusual, but the inclination to pro- 
ceed was stronger than all the philosophies of 
the world. Had Alexander been a beautiful 
young woman, Diogenes might have thought 
less of the sunshine — if the chroniclers are to 
be believed. One may easily be a cynic in the 
contemplation of another’s folly, but we are 
never short of convincing argument in our own 
behalf. 

Also, it must be conceded this incident ex- 
cited pleasantly his latent love of adventure. 
Who or what she was really mattered nothing; 
the circumstance was so entirely bewitching as 
to charm all doubt. Presently she would go, 
slip out of his life like a dream, and he might 
fall back for consolation on the mutability of 
things. Candidly, the prospect held out no 
superlative attraction; but one cannot hold a 
49 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


dream or manacle the sunshine. He would be 
the lonelier for her going. 

The next morning he was up early and out 
in the street. Indeed, he kicked his heels on 
the kerbstone while the lazy shop boys took 
down the shutters. His projected adventure 
on unusual waters had caused him much serious 
cogitation, hut he had made up his mind to 
proceed with the matter, and, with the desper- 
ate resolve of a Columbus pushing into the 
west, he at last entered the principal drapery 
establishment of the town. In the windows of 
this particular shop ladies’ clothing, both under 
and over, was exposed in reckless profusion; 
and one dress, in particular, marked “A Bar- 
gain — 39/6,” had a magnetic attraction for 
him. The material, as far as he could judge, 
was serge, the colour irrefragably navy blue. 
He had once heard a lady friend say that a 
woman was always safe in navy blue or black, 
and he duly congratulated himself on the ex- 
cellence of his memory. The price was so 
trivial that he wondered if she would feel in- 
sulted. But, then, this was not Bond Street, 
and she could hardly expect costumes at fifty 
guineas each. 


50 


The Woman , the M an, and the Monster 


On the whole he thought he would begin with 
that dress ; so, taking his courage in both hands, 
he entered. Instantly he was pounced upon 
by a stoutish gentleman in a frock coat, who 
advanced upon him, softly rubbing a pair of 
red, fat hands. 

“Good-morning, sir,” said this gentleman. 
“What can I have the pleasure of doing for 
you this morning?” 

“I want to buy a lady’s frock,” he said. 

“Yes, sir; this way.” He led him to a dim 
and distant counter, behind which stood three 
or four girls, who all eyed him with evident 
interest. “Miss Ellis, will you kindly attend 
to this gentleman?” 

Miss Ellis leant over the counter and smiled 
encouragingly. She was a plump, merry-faced 
girl, w r ith pretty, brown hair and roguish eyes. 

“What can I show you, sir?” she asked 
demurely. 

“You see, it’s like this,” he began, a little 
unsteadily. “I — I want to surprise my wife.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Miss Ellis looked as though perfectly aware 
that this surprising of a wife was a trivial 
commonplace. 


51 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


“You know, it’s her birthday to-dav.” She 
smiled. She did not know, but there was no 
reason why it should not be. “I rather thought 
of buying her that navy-blue costume in the 
window. It’s marked thirty-nine and six.” 

“Just arrived from Paris yesterday,” said 
Miss Ellis, without turning a hair. 

“Really!” 

The costume was brought and duly spread 
upon the counter. When he saw it he started 
as though he had been discovered committing 
a theft, or some other criminal offence. The 
thing consisted merely of a coat and skirt. 
Andromeda needed a little more than that. 

“Of course,” he said, “there ought to be 
something under the coat?” 

“Of course, sir; but any light-coloured blouse 
will match it.” 

“Naturally. Now, what would you sug- 
gest?” 

He smiled ingratiatingly. Miss Ellis was 
beginning to enjoy herself. She suggested 
“something creamy.” He thought the sugges- 
tion not inappropriate. She was rather 
“creamy” herself. 

“By all means, let it be something creamy.” 

52 


The Woman, the M an, and the Monster 


She displayed a dainty confection of lace 
and silk. He was delighted. 

“Forty-two and eleven,” she said prosaic- 
ally. 

He smiled. It struck him as rather odd that 
this little piece of silk should cost more than 
the whole costume. But what did he know of 
such things? 

“Admirable!” he exclaimed. “I wonder if 
it will fit?” 

“It’s a medium size,” said the girl. 

“The dress also is of medium size?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Yes, he thought Andromeda might be called 
of medium size, though perhaps a little on the 
tall side. This he explained to the girl, who 
assured him that the dress would fit beauti- 
fully. 

“Anyway,” said he, “it can be altered?” 

“Oh, yes, sir. We guarantee a perfect fit.” 

“By George!” he exclaimed, “that’s ripping! 
I’m awfully obliged to you.” 

“Don’t mention it, sir. Is there anything 
else I can show you?” 

“Ah, I wonder if you would?” 

She smiled. It had been extremely difficult 
53 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


to keep a serious face, but she had performed 
her onerous duty with commendable fortitude. 

“I suppose you keep the — the things that 
go under that?” he began diffidently. 

“Oh, yes, sir.” 

“Petticoats and — other things?” 

“We stock everything that is necessary.” 

“By George! that’s awfully lucky. Just 
make me up a bundle of ’em.” 

Miss Ellis dashed away as though she had 
been shot. Her face had been growing redder 
and redder, and as she slipped round the near- 
est corner she nearly exploded with laughter. 
Carey Vermont raised his hat and wiped his 
fevered brow. But he felt proud of himself. 
He had faced the situation like a hero. 

When she returned her face was still ex- 
tremely flushed, while her eyes looked as though 
she had been crying. On her arm she carried 
a bundle of silk petticoats, striped, plain, 
gaudy, and the like. Touching what he 
thought looked the prettiest, he said: “That 
will do.” 

“And the next article?” 

It was with quivering lips she put the ques- 
tion. It looked as though she again suffered 
54 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


the dread of a violent explosion, and once or 
twice she sought relief in the subterfuge of 
searching for something on the shelves behind 
her. 

“Look here,” he said confidentially; “while 
I’m at it I think I may as well present her with 
an entire outfit. Just put me up one of every- 
thing.” 

“One of everything, sir?” 

“You know — from stockings upwards.” 

He was growing hotter and hotter; the girl 
bit her lips in the vain endeavour to keep back 
the severest fit of giggling that she had ever ex- 
perienced. With a hurried movement she 
reached the sheltering comer once again, where 
she sobbed and sighed with the very joy of 
the thing. 

“What’s the matter with you?” asked one 
of the assistants, coming up. 

“Oh, I shall die!” she moaned. “I know I 
shall die. That man’s simply killing me.” 

“If you don’t feel capable of completing 
the order ” began the other, who rather re- 

gretted that she had not been given the task. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” 

What made her do it Carey Vermont never 
55 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


could understand. He supposed it was her 
stupidity. Naturally, a shop-girl, instinctively 
feminine though she may be, would of a surety 
lack something of that delicacy which he liked 
to associate with women. But this merry-faced 
creature exposed the various articles with the 
most unblushing effrontery, even going so far 
as to draw his attention to the quality of the 
lace at the neck of the chemise, and at the ex- 
tremities of that other important article of 
feminine apparel. 

“Excellent!” he muttered; “admirable — just 
the thing. Hope she’ll like ’em. Jolly fine — 
very pretty — just the thing.” And he repeated 
“Just the thing” at least half a dozen times. 

Poor man, he had never been subjected to 
such an ordeal, and for once in a way that 
laughing philosophy, of which at times he had 
been singularly proud, entirely forsook him. 
Though the humour of the situation was by no 
means lost on him, he felt utterly incapable 
of taking full advantage of it. This buying 
an outfit for the wife was really a most tre- 
mendous business. 

“Is that all I can do for you, sir?” asked 
the girl demurely. 


56 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Yes, thank you. I think that is all.” 

“We have just had a new consignment of 
corsets from Paris.” 

“Oh, by George! I’d forgotten the corsets!” 

She showed him some pretty ones with pale- 
blue suspenders attached. Pale-blue, of course ! 
It would match the other decorations. 

Naturally, he chose the prettiest. She ad- 
mired his taste, and showed her appreciation 
by an approving glance. 

“You’ve been awfully good to me,” he said. 
“I don’t know what I should have done without 
you. Do you admire these things?” 

“I think they’re frightfully sweet.” 

“Then have a pair — as a souvenir.” 

“Oh, sir!” 

“No offence, I assure you. Have some hand- 
kerchiefs, then — or some stockings. Confound 
it all, I’ve forgotten the stockings ! I’m afraid 
I’m giving you an unconscionable amount of 
trouble.” 

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” she said. 

Looking closer, he saw that she had a par- 
ticularly fresh, sweet face and a beautifully 
rounded bust. Speaking eyes, too! And then 
he thought of other eyes, blue eyes, with dark, 
57 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


straight brows. After all, one woman at a 
time was quite enough for any sensible man. 

She showed him stockings innumerable, silk, 
lisle thread, cashmere — open-worked, clocked 
•—of which he made a varied selection. 

“What do you usually affect?” he asked. 

She blushed very becomingly, yet succeeded 
in replying with some promptitude: “Cash- 
mere.” 

“Then take half a dozen pairs for yourself,” 
he said; “and don’t forget the corset. You’ve 
been jolly good to me. I don’t know what 
I should have done without you.” 

“Thank you, sir, I’m sure.” And again she 
blushed so prettily that he felt like giving her 
a pair of gloves, or something more useful. 
“Where shall I forward the things?” she asked. 

“Well, you see, I rather want to take them 
with me. I suppose you can let me have a man 
to carry them round to the hotel?” 

“Oh, yes, sir, certainly.” 

She called to the shop-walker and explained 
the situation, and a few minutes later Carey 
Vermont and the porter left the establishment 
laden with boxes. He had the things brought 
direct to his room, dismissed the man, who 
58 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


could not find words to express his gratitude at 
such magnanimity, and then knocked at the 
communicating door. 

“Andromeda!” 

“Well?” 

“How did you sleep?” 

“Splendidly.” 

“I’ve been shopping.” 

“So early! You are energetic.” 

“The things are piled against the door. Do 
you think you can be- ready for breakfast in 
an hour’s time, or would you rather have it 
sent up?” 

“Oh, I can be quite ready, if ” 

“I think you’ll find everything complete.” 

“Thanks, awfully.” 

“Well, then, in an hour?” 

“In an hour.” 

He went below and ordered the breakfast. 
Almost immediately he was joined by Smales. 
. “Well, John?” 

“Perhaps you would like to come round to 
the garage, sir.” 

Having nothing better to do, he consented. 
He stood by, attempting to look wise, while the 
experts talked. At a matter of fact, the origi- 
59 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


nal trouble had been located from the first; 
but, as is the way of motor men, they discussed 
every conceivable ill that the car is heir to. 

“It means sending to London for a new 
wheel,” said Smales. “There’s nothing else for 
it.” 

“That spells delay?” 

“Perhaps two days, sir. But, of course, I 
can stay here and bring her over to Aldershot.” 

“Quite so. But I dislike intensely having to 
take train. It makes one look — well, doesn’t 
it, now?” 

“Rather, sir.” 

“On the other hand, even if we telegraph, the. 
makers are not likely to hurry themselves in 
despatching the goods.” 

“No, sir; they’re not likely to break their 
necks over it.” 

“I fear not. Besides, they might make a 
mistake and send the wrong article.” 

“They might, sir, though that’s not very 
likely.” 

“Still, one never knows what these manu- 
facturers will do. Now, to obviate any risk 
of that kind, I think you had better go up 
to London, select the wheel, and bring it down 
60 


The W oman , the Man, and the Monster 


yourself. That will undoubtedly save time, 
and prevent all likelihood of mishap.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

And so it was decided that Smales should 
make the journey to London. He knew it 
was not necessary, but the governor, quite un- 
like his usual imperturbable self, seemed anx- 
ious about the matter. John had never known 
him so fearful of possible mishap, so curiously 
excited over problematical dangers. In the 
ordinary way he would have made a mock of 
such petty annoyances. That was the one good 
thing about the governor — he did take troubles 
lightly. No stamping by the wayside and 
cursing delay. Burst tyre, bad ignition, choked 
exhaust — these were all in the day’s march, 
and counted nothing in the end. Give him a 
philosopher every time, one who looked dis- 
aster in the face and smiled. But when the 
placid flow of that philosophic calm grew ruf- 
fled, the round, honest eyes of Ixion grew 
rounder, fuller, deeper — with a suspicion of in- 
tellectual potentiality. 

All the same, he went to London. 


61 


VI 


It was considerably after the stipulated 
hour; but, knowing something of woman and 
her ways, he was not surprised at the unpunc- 
tuality. Many and many a time he had been 
kept kicking his heels, while the particular she 
of the moment adjusted that last hairpin, or 
studiously scrutinised the final poise of the hat. 
Thus it had been and thus it would ever be. 
This was her day, and he could not blame her 
for making the most of it. The young ones 
were coming along — they were always coming 
along. That was the inevitable destiny. Hard 
cheeks, bright eyes, firm lips, young bodies 
aglow with the May time ! Yes, yes, the young 
were always coming along. But in the mean- 
time he was infernally peckish — and the kid- 
neys were probably going cold! 

She entered with hand extended and the 
most charming apology on her lips. He took 
the hand, muttering he scarce knew what. 

62 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


Amazement was his, yet he knew he should 
not be amazed. Was she more beautiful than 
he had imagined? Yet how could that be? But 
of a truth he was unprepared for such a vision, 
and seeing the wonder in his eyes she laughed 
lightly. 

“You showed the most admirable taste and 
judgment, Perseus. The things fit perfectly.” 

“You look charming,” he muttered. 

“No compliments, please,” she laughed. 
“But it really was most kind and thoughtful 
of you. Have I kept you waiting long for 
breakfast?” 

“Not at all,” he answered her. Breakfast! 
He would not have cared if the kidneys had 
been placed on ice! 

“Still, I know I have been a long time. May 
I ring?” 

“Allow me.” 

He rushed to the bell. She crossed over 
to the window and looked out into the street. 
His eyes followed her. If she looked so well 
in that plain blue serge skirt, what would she 
be like in a costume worthy of her? 

“What a lovely morning!” she said. 

He was conscious that the morning had sud- 
63 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


denly grown lovelier. Conscious, also, was he 
of returning some commonplace remark; more 
conscious still that the sudden appearance of 
the breakfast saved the situation. 

“Coffee or tea?” she asked as she seated her- 
self beside the cups and saucers. 

“Coffee,” he said. 

“One lump — or two?” 

“Three, please.” 

“You have a sweet tooth, Perseus.” 

“Remarkably.” 

It was delightful to see her sitting there so 
complacently, with an air of such self-posses- 
sion. And how cool and sweet and refreshing 
she looked ! Miss Ellis of the roguish eyes was 
perfectly correct in her estimation of the po- 
tentialities of that creamy blouse. Her hair 
was faultlessly dressed; the huge coils of it 
were like rolls of polished gold. Last night 
he had thought her complexion somewhat pal- 
lid; there were dark shadings under the eyes. 
But the morning light showed no trace of pal- 
lid skin, of mystic shadows. Perhaps she was 
still a trifle pale, but now and again, as his 
eyes met hers, a delicate flush lent a dazzling 
lustre to her face. 


64 


The TV oman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Isn’t it strange?” she said. 

“What?” 

“That I should be here at breakfast with you, 
and yesterday, at this time, we were ignorant 
of each other’s existence.” 

“I wonder?” 

“Of course, we were.” 

“It is delightful,” he said. 

She smiled. “Let me give you some more 
coffee.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Do you know,” said she, handing him the 
cup, and looking at him with serious eyes, “I 
don’t think it’s fair to you.” 

“And if I think it is?” 

“But look at the trouble I’m putting you 
to — and the expense.” 

“In return for which you condescend — to 
pour out my coffee. The obligation is all on 
my side.” 

“But you have been very good,” she insisted 
with a shake of the head. “I hope that you 
believe that I appreciate your kindness.” 

“I implore you not to mention it. Could 
I do less? It is a source of infinite satisfaction 
to me that I should have been of some little 
65 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


service to you. My only regret is that it was 
necessary. Won’t you try one of those eggs? 
I have been duly assured of their probity.” 

“You see, you don’t know who I am, or how 
I came to be in that position.” 

“Curiosity, I assure you, is not one of my 
predominant vices.” 

“Yet you would like to know?” 

“Only when you feel at liberty to tell me.” 

“That I cannot do. But what if I am not 
worthy of this consideration?” 

“I prefer to think you unfortunate. It was 
not the fault of Andromeda that she was ex- 
posed to such a fate.” 

“And you still choose to think of me as An- 
dromeda?” 

“As Andromeda I shall always think of 
you.” 

She cracked the top of an egg and began 
slowly to remove the shell. He occupied him- 
self with a similar task. 

“I believe their certificate of good character 
was perfectly honest,” he said. The silence 
was a little irksome ; he was not yet quite sure 
of the way. 


66 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“What has become of Ixion?” she asked sud- 
denly. 

“He has gone to town to purchase the new 
wheel — and explain things,” he added as an 
afterthought, a curious, questioning look in her 
.eyes causing this addition. 

“And he is returning?” 

“Some time to-day, I suppose.” 

“And the car will be mended?” 

“Probably some time to-morrow. Why?” 

“I was only thinking.” 

“Of what?” 

“Of what will happen to me when you are 
gone.” 

“But I’m not going to leave you here. You 
must allow me to send you back to your 
people.” 

She paused in conveying a spoonful of egg 
to her mouth; slowly the spoon dropped back 
to her plate. She rested her elbows on the 
table and turned on him a peculiarly pene- 
trating glance. 

“What if I don’t wish to go back?” 

“Oh, but of course ” he began lightly. 

She cut him short. 


67 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“What if I — can’t go back? What if there 
is nowhere for me to go?” 

“But you must have a home — friends?” 

“And if I have neither?” 

“No one is so badly off as that.” 

“No one but me. You are sorry now that 
the gods directed you to my rescue?” The 
touch of bitterness in her tone did not escape 
him ; but he thought he understood it. 

“On the contrary, I have the greater reason 
for congratulation.” 

She looked at him searchingly, as if weigh- 
ing all the possibilities of that reply. 

“Well, perhaps it is not quite so bad as 
that, though it’s bad enough. Yet, frankly, 
I have not the remotest intention of returning. 
If you were a woman, would you return to 
the man who treated you as I have been 
treated?” 

“No!” 

The answer was decided enough, yet in it 
there was a lingering tone of speculation which 
did not escape her. 

“There is a possibility of my having merited 
the punishment — is not that what you are 
thinking?” 


68 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“No crime could merit such an outrage,” 
he answered quickly. 

He knew the answer was cold, unheroic; he 
knew that she was summing him up, and he 
was conscious of appearing to no great ad- 
vantage. Yet this situation, so strange at its 
inception, seemed every moment to be growing 
more involved. 

“Why should I hide the truth from you?” 
she asked suddenly. “If there is anyone in 
the world who has the right to demand my 
confidence, it is you.” 

“I implore you not to think of such a thing. 
I have no right to your confidence, nor do I 
lay any claim to it. That you have allowed 
me to assist you is sufficient honour, sufficient 
reward.” 

“And you are not curious?” 

“I am human, Andromeda.” 

“I should not like you so well if you were 
not.” 

He bowed gracefully. Perhaps it was also 
the human in her which appealed so strongly 
to him. 

“But please do not let my curiosity betray 
you into that which you might regret. And 
69 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


once more I beg of you to permit me to repeat 
that, whilst regretting the necessity, I am de- 
lighted to be of service to you.” 

“That sounds very formal and proper,” she 
said, “and I have no doubt it is quite correct. 
But when I am gone — you will wonder?” 

“I admit it.” 

“And you will think of me as — * — ” 

“One who has been abominably treated.” 

“Is that all?” 

“It is not even a part.” 

Her face grew serious; wistful grew the blue 
eyes; the mouth showed a pathetic little whim- 
per. 

“I wonder what you really think of me? 
Yet it is not fair to judge, is it? I have not 
had a chance of meeting you on equal terms.” 

He thought the terms of their meeting were 
all in her favour, though it is probable she 
would not have seen it in that light. Women 
have the most amazing ideas of equity. 

“Where were you going when you met me?” 
she asked suddenly. 

“To Aldershot.” 

“You are a soldier?” 

70 


The Woman , the Man > and the Monster 


“No. I was merely going to put up with 
a friend for the night.” 

“And then?” 

“Wherever fate, or Ixion, drove.” 

“You mean ” 

“Exactly what I say. At present my only 
object is to enjoy the sunshine.” 

For a minute she seemed to think seriously; 
then she smiled at him in a tentative, nervous 
fashion. 

“You make it very hard for me,” she said 
in a low voice. 

“I hope not,” he replied. “Such was not my 
intention. Tell me, how do I offend?” 

“If I were a man — — ” she began. “But 
we are not even friends.” 

“I had hoped so. But if you were a man?” 
he insisted. She hung her head. “Andromeda, 
tell me plainly; you will not go back to your 
people?” 

“Nothing would induce me.” 

“Then, when you leave me?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “What does 
it matter? The Lord will provide,” she added 
bitterly. 

“But let me understand clearly, distinctly.” 
71 


The Woman } the Man , and the Monster 


“What is there to understand? I shall not 
go back to them, and I have nowhere else to 
go.” 

Their eyes met across the table; there was 
a gleam of intelligence in hers which found 
its way to his brain. 

“It would be rather fun,” he said— “if you 
wouldn’t mind.” 

“What would be fun?” 

“I didn’t quite mean that; but — look here,” 
he said suddenly, “why shouldn’t you stay with 
me?” 

“That would be delightful,” she admitted. 
“But the terms?” 

“There are no terms — except those of friend- 
ship. I shall be running about the country for 
at least a month.” 

“And then?” 

“Who shall say what will happen? Ixion 
may have killed us both before then.” 

“Or we may wish he had. The suggestion 
is impracticable, Perseus.” 

“Why should it be?” 

“How can a man and a woman be friends?” 

“Oh, that is an exploded idea. I think we 
72 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


could be good friends. I will promise, if you 
insist.” 

“No,” she answered gravely; “please don’t 
start promising. That would mean certain 
failure. But what would you think of me if 
I consented?” 

“I should think it infinitely delightful of 
you.” 

“I should be a tremendous expense. You 
see, I have positively nothing.” 

“We could buy things.” 

“But there are a hundred-and-one rea- 
sons ” 

“Why you should consent, and only one why 
you should not.” 

“But that is a big one.” 

“Yes; but not so big as it might appear to 
some. You are determined not to return to 
your people?” 

“Determined.” 

“And you have nowhere to go?” 

“Nowhere.” 

“Then who loses?” 

“Not you, Perseus. The thing’s unheard 
of.” 

“My dear Andromeda, if you have no faith 
73 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


in me the proposition lapses. Still, let me be 
of service. Command me in any and every par- 
ticular. I confess the thought suggested a new 
interest in life for me; nor can I see why we 
shouldn’t he just the best of pals.” 

“That would be nice,” she admitted; “just 
pals. Pity it isn’t practicable.” 

“It is perfectly practicable if we like to make 
it so. Of necessity you must doubt, and I am 
quite sensible of your point of view. Of course, 
you don’t know me, and I can assure you I 
have no intention of cataloguing my virtues; 
the effort would prove too exhausting. Yet, 
I rather wish you would give me a trial.” 

“You would simply think of me as a man 
friend whom you were taking for a jaunt in 
your car?” 

“I cannot guarantee that,” and he smiled 
into her questioning eyes ; “but I can guaran- 
tee that I will treat you as a man friend. Con- 
sider, you are already my cousin.” 

“The relationship is not near enough.” 

“Then let it be a sister.” 

“That is a little too near for safety. No, 
on the whole, I like the idea of the pal best. 

74 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


It will be a change to be pals with somebody. 
But I oughtn’t to, Perseus.” 

Appealingly she looked at him. Wistfully 
pathetic were those strange blue eyes, and with 
that look a whole revulsion of feeling swept 
through him. He suddenly grew extraordi- 
narily good; there was no virtue in or under 
heaven just then with which he was not in com- 
plete rapport. All that was noblest in him 
welled up like a fountain ; a thousand noble but 
inarticulate vows played round him like a halo. 
Why shouldn’t a man and a woman be good 
pals and nothing more? He would show her! 
At that moment he believed himself capable of 
rising to the supremest heights of magnani- 
mous renunciation. 

“Where should we go?” she asked. 

“Wherever you wish, or the fancy takes us.” 

“Are you rich, Perseus?” 

“No,” he laughed, “not rich; but I shall be 
able to complete the tour without pawning the 
car.” 

“I didn’t ask from any sordid motives.” 

“I am sure you didn’t. But I beg of you 
not to let that consideration distress you. We 
shall do very well.” 


75 


The Woman t the Man , and the Monster 


“What will Ixion say?” 

“The more you know of Ixion, the less you 
will fear him. He is a most excellent fellow, 
discreet beyond words, and singularly devoted 
to me.” 

All the same, he pictured a widening of 
Smales’s round eyes. 

“After all, I am your cousin, and there’s 
no harm in it, is there, Perseus?” 

“My dear Andromeda, there is no denying 
that it is a little singular, though this whole 
adventure teems with singularity. Yet to my 
thinking that, instead of being a drawback, 
will constitute its peculiar charm. Undoubt- 
edly, we are placed in an unusual situation — 
I think no other man and woman in the world 
can be situated as we are just at present — 
but by a strict observance of convention, I see 
no earthly reason why we should not render it 
exceedingly commonplace.” 

A faint smile played round her lips. She 
seemed rather to enjoy his faint tinge of 
cynicism. 

“If it wasn’t for Ixion,” she said. 

And thus was the victory. If honest r John 
Smales was the insuperable bar, there was noth- 
76 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


ing much to be feared. Honest John, with his 
round, brown eyes and his squat, smug face. 

“I wonder why people of the name of John 
are always called ‘honest’?” he asked, uncon- 
sciously voicing his thoughts. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps they 
can’t help it.” 


77 


VII 


It was an extremely delicate matter, and for 
the life of him he scarcely knew how to ap- 
proach it. This agreement of comradeship was 
admirable in theory, but in practice he feared 
it would leave much to be desired. However, 
she gave him the necessary opportunity by ex- 
pressing admiration for the new cream blouse. 
They had finished breakfast by this time, and 
he, having received permission, was smoking 
a cigarette. 

“Glad you like it,” he said. “I was in an 
awful funk.” 

“Why?” 

“Suppose it had been something you didn’t 
like — something bright yellow or emerald 
green, for instance?” 

“But it wasn’t, you see.” 

“Of course, even a man is sometimes pos- 
sessed with an idea of the fitness of things. I 
did my best, Andromeda.” 

78 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“And an admirable best,” she admitted. 

“Thanks; awfully nice of you to say so. 
Naturally, a man can’t think of everything.” 

“But that’s just what you have done — in 
the most wonderful manner. Are you married, 
Perseus?” 

“Good Lord, no!” 

“Never been?” 

“Never!” 

“Then how do you know so much about 
women’s clothes?” 

“Seen ’em in the shop windows, I suppose. 
They don’t hide anything nowadays.” 

“Almost as bad as the women?” 

“My dear Andromeda, I have never seen 
anything bad in a woman.” 

“Ah,” she laughed, “it is easily seen that you 
have not been married.” 

“I can see now how greatly unfortunate I 
have been. But in this matter of purchase I 
really did my best — with the aid of a very 
charming young lady.” 

“Ah! and how did you explain?” 

“I said it was my wife’s birthday — I hope 
you don’t mind? — and that I meant to surprise 
her with an outfit as a present. The girl was 
79 


The Woman , the Man and the Monster 


most obliging; suggested all kinds of things. 
But, of course, some items must have been 
overlooked in the hurry. Now, I want you to 
let me remedy the omission in the only possible 
way I can; and that is, my dear Andromeda, 
by allowing you to make your own purchases.” 

As he spoke he took out his pocketbook. 
With a quick movement of the hand she begged 
him to desist.” 

“Don’t, or you will spoil everything!” 

“But ” 

.“I know. It is very good of you, Perseus. 
But I should like you to buy everything.” 

“Everything?” 

“Yes. You can’t say you don’t know how.” 

“But if you only knew the supreme effort!” 

“Your taste is perfect. I should not have 
been half so successful.” 

“But, hang it all, I forgot the nighties!” 

“Your pyjamas were most comfortable.” 

“Still,” he insisted, “you must permit me, 
Andromeda. I admit that hero as I am I 
shrink from a second encounter with Miss 
Ellis. Bid me march up to the cannon’s mouth, 
if you like, but don’t ask me to face the mock- 
ing battery of her eyes.” 

80 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“But Perseus was not afraid of the Gor- 
gons. Why should you fear this Medusa of 
the counter?” 

“For a reason entirely opposite to that which 
inspired the strategy of Perseus. I fear she 
would not turn me into stone.” 

“Why should you fear?” she asked, lower- 
ing her lids. 

“I rather think that after Perseus saw An- 
dromeda he might have wished to live.” 

But he got his own way in the end, a fate 
which almost invariably befalls the persistent 
male. Woman protests with some volubility. 
By the gods in the air and the devils beneath 
the sea, nothing shall move her. Loosen her 
hold on the situation, let go the master grip — 
a thousand times, no! And yet, for the ma- 
jority of us, it is so much sweeter to be led 
than to lead. 

They went out into the street, which was 
flooded with sunshine, and he felt in full the 
delights of summer and the novelty of the sit- 
uation. Together they wandered aimlessly 
from shop to shop, criticising the goods and 
the passers-by. Everything that she admired 
he wanted her to buy, and had she been a wom- 
81 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


an of extravagant tastes his pocketbook might 
have suffered heavily. But she would have 
nothing to do with superfluities ; the only pur- 
chases she made were those which she declared 
to be absolutely necessary. 

After lunch they took a fly and drove. Sum- 
mer was everywhere, in garden, field and 
hedgerow; it wrapped them about as with a 
warm, sweet mantle ; it sang in the air, in their 
blood, shone brightly in their eyes. They had 
tea in the old-fashioned garden of an inn just 
off the Goldaming Road. At the foot of this 
garden a wee stream flowed softly over pebble, 
through sedge. The landlady herself waited 
on them, a stout and cheery body who eyed 
them with merry, brown eyes. She dilated on 
the quietness of Guildford and its environs, and 
mysteriously assured them that lots of couples 
came their Way in the summer. 

The table itself was spread beneath a large 
mulberry-tree, the leaves of which afforded a 
cool and grateful shade. The branches hung 
heavy with the gorgeous fruit. Also, the bread 
and butter was delicious, the cress cool and 
crisp. Likewise, the landlady insisted on ex- 
ploiting some of her home-made cake. But, 
82 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


like her, this was stodgy. They expressed a 
high opinion of its undoubted merits, but for- 
bore to sample it. The good wife had a fat 
hand, and a heavy. 

Andromeda was brimming over with merri- 
ment. A delicious colour was in her cheeks; 
her eyes were clear and glistening as the sun 
itself. Even the white, heavy lids seemed to 
have lost much of their languor, except when, 
catching his eye, they drooped over the light be- 
neath. 

“What fun,” she said. “The old lady thinks 
we are on our honeymoon.” 

“No such luck,” he muttered. Her heavy 
brows contracted. 

“Really,” she protested, “you will spoil 
everything if you talk like that. Besides, it 
expressly contravenes our bargain. You 
wouldn’t say that to a man friend.” 

“No.” 

“Then please do not forget that for the time 
being I am a man friend.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re really very stupid, Perseus. Why, 
even now you are looking at me as if I were 
not a man friend. It’s too ridiculous of you.” 

83 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


“Mere imagination, my dear Andromeda,” 
he replied, “though, of course, you’re some- 
thing more than a mere friend. You’re an 
uncle, at least.” 

“Now you’re getting more ridiculous than 
ever. Have some cress?” 

“Thanks. I wonder if that old lady is watch- 
ing us from some secret outlook. If she is, 
how horribly disappointed she must be.” 

“Why?” 

“At not seeing us kiss each other. I believe 
people on their honeymoon kiss — if they never 
do it afterwards. We sit at the extremities 
of the table.” 

“How do men usually sit?” 

“Of course. Only she has no idea you’re a 
man.” 

“I can see what it is, my dear Perseus; 
you’re going to make this arrangement simply 
unworkable.” 

“I swear you misjudge me. It’s just the 
humour of the animal, and the singularity of 
the situation. Even you will admit that it 
offers scope for a little badinage.” 

“Indeed, I admit nothing of the kind; and 

if that’s the way you’re going to look at it ” 

84 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Oh, but I’m only going to look at it in one 
way,” he interrupted hastily, “and that way 
is yours. Do, please, take up that slice of bread 
and butter. If the old lady is watching she 
will think for certain that we are husband and 
wife.” 

“Why?” 

“If we were lovers we should not be quarrel- 
ling in such a peaceful haven as this.” 

“Yes, it is nice here,” she admitted frankly, 
like one who is pleased to make the admission. 
“Why can’t it always be summer?” 

“I suppose a wise providence foresaw the 
terror of monotony. If it were always sum- 
mer we should sigh for a cloudy sky, a frosty 
morning, an exhilarating northeaster.” 

“I don’t think I ever should. This is peace, 
Perseus.” 

She dropped her chin in her hand and looked 
across at him with dreamy eyes, eyes which 
seemed to pass through him, over him — eyes 
which rested somewhere in the immensity of 
the infinite. 

“You want peace?” 

“Oh, so much!” 

Peace in a world of stress — peace for her 
85 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


whom fortune had tricked so cruelly. What of 
it had she known — how much of peace had been 
hers? Or might her life be epitomise4 in the 
adventure on the hill ? How had it com! about ? 
Who was the monster that had thus maltreated 
her? 

The drowsy hum of insects filled the air. He 
watched the evolutions of a wasp as it circled 
round the sugar-bowl. A dozen times he 
thought the gorgeous creature would alight, 
but some timidity kept it eternally on the wing. 
The smaller insects had infinitely more cour- 
age. Where the knife had sheered through the 
home-made cake it had cut a currant in half. 
A domestic fly was now tearing at the heart 
of it — a ravenous little monster, void of all 
fear. Somewhere in the trees yonder a bird 
was piping; even the whir of an unseen motor 
broke the strange stillness not unpleasantly. 
For a moment he feared the people of the car 
might come and disturb their tranquillity. But 
fortunately it whirred onward — the singing 
meteor of the road. Motorists, as a rule, do 
not patronise the quiet byways. The green 
country is but so much green waste that hides 
from their view the nearest town. 

86 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


Her eyes were closed now, but her chin still 
rested in the palm of her hand — a pretty hand, 
with the blue veins showing faintly on the in- 
side of the wrist. Below that again was the 
faint discolouration, the mere sight of which 
made him anticipate with pleasure the doing 
of evil deeds. Languidly, heavily, lay the 
white lids across the eyes ; such sweet eyes, such 
wonderful lids! Who could have committed 
such an outrage? What could have possessed 
him? How had she merited such cruel punish- 
ment? Of course, she had not merited it. The 
man was a ferocious monster, a madman, to 
think no worse evil of him. Yet he wondered 
what the secret could be, and when she would 
enlighten his darkness. 

Suddenly she opened her eyes, but though 
caught in the act he only smiled at the dis- 
covery. 

“A penny for your thoughts.” 

“You’re too generous, Andromeda. They 
have never yet brought so much in the mar- 
kets of the world. You would be making a 
bad bargain.” 

“Not the first,” she muttered. “You were 
thinking about me?” 


87 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“True. Personally, I fail to see how, at 
present, I could do anything else.” 

“But that will spoil all,” she asserted. “Just 
now the look in your eyes was one almost of 
reproach. I couldn’t stand that, Perseus. It 
would make me think too deeply; and shall I 
confess I don’t want to think at all? You will 
make me feel that I must explain things, and 
that would rob the situation of all its charm. 
Somehow I thought that you approached this 
matter as a man of imagination, that you would 
understand it as I understand it. We are not 
a modern Jack and Mabel, but two strenuous 
pagans wandering in a bygone age through an 
ancient land. Destroy that illusion and we 
at once descend to the convention of the com- 
monplace. Do you understand me?” 

“Partly; but continue.” 

He understood her well enough, but he loved 
to hear her talk. For with her talking his 
wonder deepened. This was a woman of imagi- 
nation, a woman born out of her country, out 
of her century. More and more it seemed but 
natural that they should have met so strangely. 
Indeed, it seemed impossible that they could 
have met any other way. And he had prided 
88 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster, 


himself that he was a modern of the modems, 
knowing all the time that he was nothing of 
the kind. 

“Continue, Andromeda,” he repeated softly. 
“When you speak I leave the centuries behind 
me, and range once more the shores of Ethio- 
pia, fresh from my conquest of the Gorgons.” 

She lifted her eyes to his and smiled. 

“That is the true spirit of our compact. 
The spirit of summer is abroad, Perseus, and 
all the world is singing with the madness of 
it.” 

“I hear it,” he said, “the multitudinous har- 
monies of it. We, too, are of the summer, and 
our hearts are singing with joy. Well?” 

He looked at her with quaintly serious eyes, 
eyes which were not yet so serious as to hide 
a faint glimmer of humour. She sighed. 

“You remember all the time that this is the 
twentieth century, and that you live in London. 
Why do people live in London?” 

“For the same reason, I suppose, that they 
once lived in ancient Greece : because they can’t 
help themselves. Frightfully commonplace, 
isn’t it? But I suppose if the truth were known 
the real Perseus was quite a commonplace 
89 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


young man, a kind of inflated Greek bounder. 
We know that he possessed to a remarkable 
degree the soul of a huckster.” 

“There you have a decided advantage over 
him,” she admitted frankly. “He must have 
been a poor sort of a hero, after all.” 

“To tell you the truth,” he answered, “I 
was never greatly impressed by the heroism 
of the ancients. There was always some super- 
natural deity watching over them, ready to 
shield them when in danger, or destroy their 
valiant opponents. I always thought it rather 
hard on the opponent. Any cockney cabdriver 
might be as valiant as Achilles if he knew he 
was invulnerable except in the heel. Hector 
never had the ghost of a chance. Why he was 
such a fool as to take on the job I never could 
understand.” 

“You grow grossly materialistic, my dear 
Perseus.” 

“After all, I am a child of my day, and I 
thank God for it. Summer is with us, An- 
dromeda. Can’t you hear it singing in the 
trees?” 

Very still was the world at that moment. 
Not a sound reached them of aught but in- 
90 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


articulate life. But overhead the leaves were 
rustling faintly, and from the old-world gar- 
den there came to them the faint odour of roses. 
'He rose, plucked some of the gorgeous fruit, 
and laughed to see her stain her lips. 

“I think there must be something of the 
gipsy in you,” she said, a strange, wondering 
look in her eyes. 

“Does the gipsy know anything of this,” 
he extended both hands as though to embrace 
the whole countryside, “beyond the fact that 
the sun is shining, and that the nights are 
warm? I doubt it. Like all heroes of romance, 
the dirty rascal has been idealised too greatly. 
My materialistic mind does not allow me to 
idealise dirt in saint or sinner. It’s good to 
be clean, Andromeda.” 

“To be clean!” she echoed. 

This, too, might mean many things. He 
looked at her sharply, realising something of 
the thought that was passing through her 
mind. 

“Beauty is clean,” he said, “and truth is 
clean. She bathes in the dews of the morning, 
and dries her body with a mesh of sunbeams.” 

91 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 

“I think,” answered the girl, “that you are 
better even than I thought.” 

Her eager eyes were still frankly search- 
ing his; the breath came through the parted 
lips in little long-drawn sighs. 

“And so you thought me good? Well, that’s 
something.” There was a whimsical look in 
his eyes that brought a faint smile to her lips. 
.“Yet I have often thought that I might be — 
by fits and starts.” 

“I wonder if it would be nice to be very 
good?” she asked. “To think no evil, to do 
none. Is it possible? To be as good as we 
can be: is that enough? Some of us, it is true, 
could not be very good no matter how we 
tried. What then?” 

“Shall the comparatively good be accepted? 
Perhaps. Yet what act, sentiment, perform- 
ance ever satisfied all? Isn’t it, after all, a 
mental attitude? That, too, is good in its way 
which has been called evil. Evil, be thou my 
good? Does not the converse hold equally 
well? An endless definition. Madness lies by 
the way of the inverted proposition. That 
which we call happiness is surely happiness to 
us? That it dies and is succeeded by a less 
92 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


pleasing sensation matters nothing. All things 
die- — even the gods.” He stopped and looked 
at her, but the whimsical smile had deepened in 
his eyes. “I am talking like a fool, Androm- 
eda.” 

“No,” she said. “Please continue.” 

Her eyes caught no gleam of his whimsi- 
cality; even her red mouth, which to him 
seemed for ever faintly mocking at destiny, 
had straightened out its curl of disdain. 

“To what end? The world has had many 
thousands of years now to possess its soul of 
virtue, and what has it made of it? Thousands 
of years hence shall it be the same? The gods 
are still frankly immoral. The old faiths die, 
the new ones grow old. Save man and woman 
all things change. Andromeda, there is a depth 
beyond which we may not go. But the earth 
is still green, and the sun still warm. Thank 
God for life. Amen!” 

He was still smiling at her across the table, 
but much of the whimsicality had died out of 
his eyes. 

“No one ever talked to me like this before.” 

“You’ve been lucky,” he said. 


93 


VIII 


Returning to the hotel, he found a telegram 
from Smales awaiting him. There was likely 
to be some delay in procuring the wheel. The 
manufacturers would have to send to the 
works. Should he wait? By all means, he 
replied. Never had he so little use for the 
worthy Ixion; never was he in less hurry to 
complete repairs. 

“Smales telegraphs that there is likely to be 
some delay,” he explained to Andromeda. 

“Do you mind?” she asked. 

He laughed. “Not in the least. I was won- 
dering if the place was likely to bore you.” 

“It will not bore me,” was her emphatic re- 
ply — “at least, not yet,” she added with a sly 
look. “To be quite frank with you, I feel 
rather relieved. I was afraid he might come 
down this evening, and that we should have 
hurried away.” 

“And don’t you want to go?” 

94- 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Why should I? I am a wanderer without 
a destination. Of course, it really matters little 
where I go or what becomes of me,” she added 
reflectively. “Yet I am human enough to pre- 
fer a choice of evils. You do not regret?” 

“Andromeda, I am the mildest man on 
earth; but if you even suggest such a thing 
again I shall get furiously angry.” 

“Forgive me,” she pleaded. “But, Perseus, 
I want you to understand one thing plainly. 
I realise perfectly that you are under no obli- 
gation to help me. It is possible that you may 
soon regret this strange, one-sided bargain, and 
when you do I want you frankly to tell me.” 

“So you insist upon seeing me in a fury?” 

“Promise, Perseus — I want you to promise.” 

“Very well, I promise. When I am tired of 
this one-sided bargain I will let you know. 
And you?” 

“Why, what do you mean?” 

“When you are tired?” 

“I am essentially selfish, my dear Perseus. 
There is no fear of me.” 

“I cannot hold you.” 

“Perhaps you will not wish to. Besides, 
how does a man hold a man?” 

95 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“How does he hold a woman is more to 
the point.” 

“He usually finds a way. Still, there’s no 
reason why we shouldn’t be good pals, is 
there?” 

“None whatever.” 

He laughed softly to himself. Why for 
ever should he be confusing their relationship, 
or her agreed sex? Amusing, also, to hear her 
define the situation so emphatically. No doubt 
he would grow accustomed to it, but at pres- 
ent it was decidedly suggestive of the uncon- 
ventional. 

Though it was like a honeymoon without the 
honey, he nevertheless felt it an imperative 
duty that she should not be bored. The hotel 
itself was dull as the grave; they were not as 
those who are sunk to the neck in the slough 
of matrimony. Life had still the vigour of 
sunrise. To see her yawn would cover him 
with shame unspeakable. Personally, he rather 
favoured a stroll after dinner; but moonlight 
walks in the country are dangerous. He had 
noticed playbills about the town which an- 
nounced the wonders of a lurid melodrama. 
The piece was called “The Gii’l Who Walked 
96 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


the Pavement of Good Intentions.” A clumsy 
title, but perhaps significant. Whether that 
pavement was in hell or Piccadilly he did not 
know. It mattered little; they were probably 
nearly related — a kind of first cousin. Cer- 
tainly the title suggested some perilous ad- 
ventures, a suggestion fully borne out by the 
lurid posters with which every boarding was 
somewhat ostentatiously plastered. 

Andromeda rose to the bait like a greedy 
trout. Of all things she loved the theatre best, 
nor did she approach the performance in that 
cynical or critical mood which your blase dwell- 
er of the city is apt to assume. With the play- 
house as an exalted medium of education she 
had no sympathy. Regarding it frankly as a 
source of entertainment, she was lenient to 
its crudities, nor visited with too severe a cen- 
sure the banalities which forced a laugh from 
the groundlings. To be sure, the villain was 
ferociously funny, but in a way not one whit 
funnier than the hero, who seemed to be a com- 
pound of heroic bombast and infantile drivel. 
As for the “Girl Who Walked the Pavement,” 
etc., she fell far short of expectations; nor 
could either of them tell what that pavement 
97 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 

exactly was, or in what locality it was situated. 
The truth is the girl had not the courage of 
her convictions, and Andromeda was inclined 
to vote her rather a failure. As for Perseus, 
he frankly enjoyed the simplicity of plot 
and the far greater simplicity of acting. It 
was all so unspeakably ingenuous as almost to 
create a new sensation. The comic man was 
so strenuously comic as to leave no doubt of 
his intention. He would indeed have been a 
dull dog who did not guess that the actor was 
striving his hardest to be funny. The audi- 
ence laughed immoderately and indiscrimi- 
nately, whether it was at the antics of the 
comedian or the agony of the hero. During 
an appalling appeal to the Deity, a cat with 
round, green eyes strolled across the stage and 
glared across the footlights. The creature was 
applauded convulsively — which proved that 
the audience was not so indiscriminating, after 
all. 

As they walked back to the hotel Androm- 
eda declared that she was anything but satis- 
fied. Perseus, on the other hand, assured her 
that he had enjoyed himself immensely. It is 
true the hero was a fool, but he was in the mood 
98 


The W oman , the Man, and the Monster 


to sympathise with fools. She did not ask him 
why. Garrulous as she was by nature, there 
were times when she was content to think. 

“What do you make of the hero?” she asked 
suddenly. 

“Not much.” 

“I mean of the hero generally.” 

“He seems to be born to misfortune.” 

“And to triumph. I think the world is all 
the better for heroes.” 

“Have you ever read Carlyle?” he asked. 

“No.” 

“You must, Andromeda, even though it de- 
stroys the hero of melodrama.” 

“I have an idea that the real hero is never 
so nice as the imaginary one.” 

“Perhaps you’re right. I know an inex- 
pressibly stupid person who won the Y.C. in 
South Africa. Poor chap, he can never forget 
it.” 

“I should like to be a man and win the 

Y.C.” 

“I think you w r ould win it, too,” he responded 
gravely. 

She did not press for an answer, but instinct- 
ively drew nearer to him. The pressure of 
99 


The W oman, the Man, and the Monster 


her body against his thrilled him strangely. 
To have slipped his arm round her would have 
been so easy just then, and so agreeable. When 
she turned her eyes up to him they gleamed 
strangely in the night. He walked on with 
head erect, a quaint smile on his lips. 

Supper was spread for them, but, according 
to orders, there was no one in attendance. He 
felt that it would be better for them to be 
alone, and she allowed him to see that she ap- 
preciated his foresight. 

“You think of everything,” she said. But 
she insisted upon attending to his wants. “I, 
too, have a hero,” she remarked. 

“Who is not selfish enough to let you wait on 
him. You must be tired, Andromeda. You 
have done a lot to-day.” 

“I cannot realise it all. It seems like years 
ago. 

That whimsical smile which she liked so well, 
even while not sure of understanding it, 
played round the corners of his mouth. 

“Ambiguous,” he said. 

“Yet not so, really. You have shut off yes- 
terday with a thick curtain of time.” 

100 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Then do not peep behind it. Why should 
you?” 

“Merely to know that this is real, and to 
congratulate myself accordingly.” 

They were at the window, now, looking out 
into the quiet street. 

“What a night!” she said. “I wish the car 
was out there now. I should love a run 
through the moonlight.” 

She was so close to him that when she moved 
some portion of her clothing touched him. Her 
eyes were shining, and he marked the quick 
rise and fall of her breast. Though a man may 
be a hero, it is not wise continually to put his 
heroism to the test. 

“I am afraid you would find it rather cold,” 
he said. The words came with an effort, but 
he got them out. 

A slow smile of amusement seemed to cross 
her face. She looked up at him, and he thought 
her beautiful mouth was curling in mockery. 
But he had consciously advanced the inept, 
and was ready to bear the effect of it. 

“I have risked more dreadful things,” she 
replied. Her voice was low, but so full of 
101 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


meaning that it stirred him strangely. “I 
should not mind the cold.” 

She was looking up at him now, a curious, 
appealing light in her eyes. The rise and fall 
of her bosom bewildered him. It seemed to 
strain hard at the covering which confined it, 
as though it panted for freedom. 

“By George!” he muttered, “what a lucky 
thing we have decided to be such good pals, 
Andromeda.” 

“Yes, isn’t it? You see, it is possible, after 
all. Do you think one-half of the world is 
wise?” 

“Surely the proportion is excessive.” 

“Yet the greater proportion says that this 
cannot be — this friendship of the man and the 
woman. We are going to prove its unwisdom, 
Perseus.” 

“Yes.” 

She touched him lightly on the arm. In the 
half-light her face looked bewitching; her 
bosom rose perilously near. 

“I am always wondering what you really 
think of me — what you must think of me. 
Sometimes I hope that your thoughts are 
kind.” 


102 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


“They are always that,” he assured her. 

“And sometimes I fear. Shall I tell you 
everything?” 

She looked up at him appealingly, confid- 
ingly. It was the manner and the face of a 
child suing for pardon, a wistful, pathetic lit- 
tle face that had known many sorrows. 

“Tell me everything that is likely to cost 
you the least confusion or regret. Try to be 
happy, little girl. What does anything else 
matter?” 

“With you I could not he otherwise than 
happy. But I hate this mystery — you don’t 
know how I hate it.” 

“Yet I will not deny that it is not without 
its charm. Remember that we are not two 
inquisitive moderns who reckon our attachment 
by the status of our antecedents, but two brave 
pagans who roamed the world before the un- 
speakable Mrs. Grundy was born.” 

“I think,” she mused, “that even the pagans 
must have had their Mrs. Grundy. It seems 
to me that hell in some shape or form must 
always have terrified poor mortals.” 

“Socrates had a shrewish wife.” 

“Do men reckon that the worst of evils?” 

103 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Some men may. It seems to me that a man 
who loafs about at street comers all day isn’t 
good for much. No wonder his wife ragged 
him.” 

“And you count yourself lucky in not having 
a wife at all?” 

“At times I have ; but now ” 

“Well, now?” 

Oh, it was a wonderful face — a strong, lithe, 
young body, and it was so near his own, so 
dangerously near 

“Now,” he answered in some confusion, “I 
am beginning to doubt.” 

“Fancy!” she said, seeming involuntarily to 
draw back; “this is our first day, Perseus.” 

“Our first day. And you are not disap- 
pointed?” 

“On the contrary. You have made me so 
happy that I think I shall soon forget.” 

“Forget all that is unpleasant, and you will 
make me happy, too.” 

“I will try. Good-night.” 

“Good-night.” 

Frankly she held out her hand, frankly he 
took it. For a moment their palms lingered, 
but there was no pressure in her fingers be- 
104 


The Woman , the 31 an , and the Monster 


yond that of friendship, nor did he embarrass 
her in any way. Yet when she was gone he 
took up his pipe and slowly began to fill it, 
and for more than an hour after he sat at the 
window smoking and telling his strange story 
to the stars. Coldly indifferent in their in- 
scrutable wisdom, they blinked at him through 
the night. 

“I wonder if the gods are dead?” he mut- 
tered. 


105 


IX 


In every way she proved to be a most ex- 
hilarating companion. Always cheery, she 
seemed insensible to fatigue. He had but to 
offer a suggestion for her to acquiesce. Youth 
was hers, abundant, superfluous youth; youth 
glorious with the vitality of spring. Her eyes 
brightened; slowly the colour came back to 
her cheeks. The faint suspicion of wistfulness 
faded from her glance. She was as one who 
walked in the rays of the morning. 

Critically he surveyed her, line by line, fea- 
ture by feature. In all things was she not per- 
fect; yet there was so much of physical per- 
fection in her that criticism was silenced. The 
slope of the shoulder (singularly broad for one 
so slightly built), the depth of the chest, the 
curve of the hip, the poise of the chin — were not 
all these things the very essence and acme of 
the feminine? For above all things was she 
feminine, breathing woman in every look, ges- 
106 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


ture, attitude. She seemed to exude the per- 
fume of woman as a rose exudes its sweetness ; 
and to his thinking never was rose or any other 
flower of the garden or the wild half so deli- 
ciously fragrant. Of the manner of their com- 
ing together he scarcely dared to think ; of their 
ultimate parting he would not think at all. 
Yet the situation appealed irresistibly to his 
whimsical humour. Surely it was the quaint- 
est adventure that ever befell a man in these 
prosaic days. 

By the early post he received a letter from 
the indefatigable Smales, a long letter full of 
interminable explanations and a regret with 
which, to tell the truth, he had little sympathy. 
The gist of the letter was that there was likely 
to be considerable delay; but though that 
seemed greatly to distress Ixion it did not ap- 
pear to cause his master the least shadow of 
concern. He handed it over to Andromeda 
with a smile, watching her face intently as she 
perused it. 

“Then he won’t be coming down to-day?” 
she asked. 

“So it appears.” 

“I’m glad.” 


107 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“So am I.” 

They looked at each other across the break- 
fast table and smiled. 

“I wish he would never come at all,” she 
said. 

“That might be awkward.” 

“His coming will spoil everything.” 

“Not necessarily.” 

“I am sure he is a prying creature.” 

“He’s a good man, is John.” 

“I hate good men.” 

“Andromeda!” 

“I mean I hate some men who profess to 
be good, for, of course, it’s all profession. None 
of them are really good. That’s why I like 
you.” 

“Because I’m not good?” 

“Because you don’t profess to be. The best 
men, like the best women, are those whom the 
world calls bad.” 

“But, of course, you don’t expect me to en- 
dorse such an outrageous proposition?” 

“I expect you to stand by your own judg- 
ment and experience of life, and not blindly 
to bow the knee to convention.” 

108 


The W oman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Have I bowed it?” he asked, his eyes 
smiling into hers. 

“I am a silly chatterer,” she admitted. “I 
wonder if you understand me?” 

“What if I understand you better than you 
understand yourself?” 

“ No ! no ! ” She shook her head emphatically. 
“That is quite impossible. You can only guess; 
I know. But I’m glad he’s not coming down. 
Telegraph to him and tell him not to hurry. 
The man is a positive nuisance with his scrupu- 
lous ideas of duty. I hate those stolid, heavy, 
unimaginative people who put duty before 
everything. You wouldn’t be so absurd?” 

“You are giving me a character this morn- 
ing.” 

“I have already given you one — of the best. 
But I am angry with you, Perseus. Why did 
you sit up so late last night?” 

“But did I? I really don’t remember.” 

“I couldn’t go to sleep until you came.” 

“Why,” he said, a curious, musing light in 
his eyes, “that’s strange!” 

“Is it? Perhaps it is. I suppose a woman 
does many things a man thinks strange, only 
they don’t seem strange to her. That is just 
109 


The W oman, the Man , and the Monster 


the difference between a man and a woman. 
Sometimes I think they really never under- 
stand each other.” 

“Perhaps that failing does not detract from 
the charm. Do you think we should find the 
sphinx so interesting once we had solved her 
riddle?” 

“So you are one of those men who still insist 
upon calling woman a riddle?” 

“What if I prefer to think so?” 

“I believe it must be that quality which 
makes of men great poets, great painters, great 
musicians. You can cheat yourselves with the 
pleasures of imagination, make the unreal seem 
the real, dwell in a land of make-believe; and 
that, too, in spite of wars, savagery, labour, and 
a thousand sordid facts. Men are wonderful, 
Perseus.” 

“But not so wonderful as women.” 

“I like them better.” He looked hard at her. 
“Yes, in spite of that. There are monsters, of 
course. Our misfortune is to be brought in 
contact with them. But on the whole men are 
rather fine.” 

“They do not always appear so to each 
other.” 


110 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 

“The little dog snaps at the big dog’s legs? 
Well, that only proves what a very little dog 
it is.” 

“There are so many little dogs,” he remarked 
with a smile. “No, I’m not a cynic, Androm- 
eda, though I am of opinion that the trend 
of modem life is towards cynicism. You see, 
we no longer take even our heroes on trust. 
The day of blind faith and blind obedience is 
past. A wiser epoch reigns, and on the whole 
I think a better.” 

“I wonder if it is wiser, better? And what 
makes you think that the day of blind faith and 
obedience is past? I see no sign of it. We 
still raise our altars to Baal and neglect the 
true God. Instead of worshipping the hero 
we bow before the mediocrity. Not content 
with setting the commonplace on a pedestal, 
we offer it our homage.” 

A smile broke slowly over his face, a rare 
smile replete with unaffected admiration. 

“You shall teach me wisdom, O Andromeda, 
thou daughter of wise-eyed Pallas. It strikes 
me that I am sadly in need of it.” 

“Then give me the chance.” She was laugh- 
ing, now. “Tell Ixion not to hurry.” 

Ill 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“If he hurries I will twist his unspeakable 
neck.” 

While she was away he wrote to Smales, tell- 
ing him on no account either to hurry or to 
worry himself, while, above all things, he was 
to be sure and wait for the new wheel, and 
bring it along with him when he came. Just 
then he had no use for Ixion, his chief dread 
being that the manufacturers were not likely 
to prove sufficiently laggard. He laughed soft- 
ly to himself as he thought it all out. 

For a certainty the charm of Andromeda was 
not lessening. Each hour seemed to disclose 
some new wonder. Strenuously he endeav- 
oured to stifle all unnatural curiosity, to curb 
his wild flights of conjecture. Vowed he over 
and over again that he would accept the cir- 
cumstance as it stood, cease to wonder, and 
thank the gods for their beneficence. And of 
a truth he did exceedingly well; but while hu- 
man nature is as it is one is subject to restric- 
tions. He could not cease to wonder as to 
her identity, how she had come to be in such 
a position, and how this most amazing friend- 
ship would end. And here a sudden fear played 
havoc with his feelings, filled his imagination 
112 


The Woman , the M an, and the Monster 


with terror. Of course, this connection might 
end at any moment. And what then? 

She came in ready for their walk and look- 
ing radiant. Again the woman was once more 
pre-eminent. He noticed the supremely fem- 
inine touches of her attire, observed the little 
knickknacks which she had purchased, and 
which he had not even thought of. 

“You look charming,” he said. 

“But you must not tell me so.” Yet he 
knew that the compliment was not ill-received. 

“Why not?” 

“You would not tell a man friend that he 
looked charming.” 

“Of course not.” 

“But I am a man friend.” 

“So you are. I had forgotten.” 

He did not think it necessary to explain that 
one does not buy skirts and blouses for a man 
friend, not to mention dainty underwear. But 
if it was her whim, why not accede to it? 
.Though she called the relationship by any name 
she chose, it did not alter the positive fact that 
she was an extremely fascinating creature. 

That day they explored most of the quaint 
by-ways of Guildford. In the morning they 
113 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


walked, but after lunch they drove. She pro- 
fessed delight in the town and its surround- 
ings ; his delight lay in hers. It seemed to him 
that she had a quick eye for detecting both 
the beautiful and the ridiculous; a quick wit, 
too, might have been hers in other circum- 
stances. Sometimes the light laugh checked 
itself with a suddenness which arrested atten- 
tion. It seemed as though she suddenly re- 
membered that she ought not to laugh. Then 
and then only was she unable to meet his 
glance. Sometimes a curve like a little whim- 
per saddened the corners of her mouth. Then 
it was that the mouth itself appeared almost 
to age. 

“Andromeda,” he said suddenly, as they 
rolled slowly back towards the town, “I want 
you to pardon me.” 

“What for?” 

“I have been guilty of a most inconceivable 
oversight.” 

“O-o-h!” 

“You’ve only got that one costume. WTiat 
must you think of me?” 

She laughed up into his face. Her blue eyes 
were dancing mischievously. 

114 


The Woman, the Man, \ and the Monster 


“Well, isn’t one enough? I’m not on my 
honeymoon.” 

“I wish you were,” he muttered. She pre- 
tended not to hear him. 

“Look at that quaint old creature,” she said. 

It was a bent, careworn woman of the la- 
bouring classes, poorly nourished, wretchedly 
clothed. She was carrying a huge bundle across 
her back, and as they rolled slowly by she 
turned on them a pair of wistful, strained, 
hungry eyes. The day was hot, the road dusty, 
the woman looked weary beyond endurance. 

There was something more than quaintness 
about all this. Indeed, the contrast flashed 
through him as the lightning flashes across a 
sombre sky, and he suddenly called upon the 
driver to stop. Without further word he 
sprang from the fly and made hastily towards 
the woman, who had turned wearily and was 
watching them through the dust. A thousand 
times he would have passed her on the road in 
his car without dreaming of stopping. They 
are not always callous who appear to be. But 
just then an impulse of which he was scarcely 
aware, which he could not have analysed if he 
tried, urged him to the act. 


The TV oman, the Man, and the Monster 


Andromeda, looking over the back of the 
cab, saw him bend forward reverently towards 
the poor creature, and then give her money. 
She could look no more, for a sudden shudder 
swept through her, and her heart leapt to her 
throat. But when he took his seat beside her 
once again her hand slipped into his. 

“That was good of you, Perseus.” 

“Oh, not at all. Poor creature ! I ought to 
have carried her bundle.” 

“What made you do it?” 

“ ’Pon my soul, I don’t know,” he answered 
lightly. 

“Shall I tell you?” She looked at him with 
wistful, questioning eyes. “You thought of 
the contrast.” 

“It was a woman,” he admitted. 

“Have you always been kind to women?” 

“I? Oh, I’m afraid I have thought chiefly 
of myself.” 

“Just think of it, Perseus. I may become 
like that poor creature — or worse.” 

“You! What an idea!” 

“She is probably a better woman than I have 
ever been. Did you notice her eves?” 

“Yes.” 


116 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


Would he ever forget them — the weary, 
weary pain of them? 

“It’s a fine world, Perseus,” she said bitterly. 
“Yes— by God!” 


117 


X 


Andromeda had many whims and moods, 
but they never lasted long enough to grow 
wearisome. Perhaps her transilience was not 
one of her least charms. Before they had 
reached the town she seemed to have forgotten 
all about the way-worn creature of the road- 
side. A powerful motor-car rushing by smoth- 
ered them with dust. 

“I hate motor-cars!” she gasped in a choking 
voice. 

“So do I — when I’m not in one.” 

Then they both laughed. It is pleasant to 
laugh, even if it is at the topsy-turviness of 
the world. 

They dismissed the cab in the High Street 
and sauntered by the shops. He stopped be- 
fore the emporium where he had made his first 
purchases. 

“You’ll want those things,” he said. 

“I told you I should prove expensive. But 
118 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


I would rather not — really. You have done 
so much.” 

“Come and let me introduce you to Miss 
Ellis. But no— on second thought I don’t 
think I will. The ordeal is too great. Do you 
mind going yourself?” 

She smiled. Does a woman mind going 
shopping — does she mind buying herself pretty 
things? 

“But it’s getting serious,” she protested. 

“That’s the charm of it.” 

“I’ll be as careful as I possibly can.” 

“No, please don’t. Be beautiful.” 

At dinner she presented herself in a new 
gown. Her face was radiant, her eyes, deep 
blue like sapphires and brighter than any gems. 

“You are beautiful,” he said. 

“I’m glad you like it, Perseus.” 

Though he noticed the distinction, he did 
not remark upon it. Come what might he 
would play the game. 

Decorously they sat opposite each other; 
nothing could have exceeded his politeness or 
her manner. The rusty-faced waiter was grave 
as a judge. It was only when he turned aside, 
or left the room, that a humorous twinkle 
119 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


might have been seen in his mellow eye. They 
might pretend what they like, but it was not 
the first time he had waited on such couples. 
Usually he found them much inclined to gener- 
osity, grateful for the least consideration. He 
never obtruded his presence more than was 
absolutely necessary. Also, he never entered 
without knocking. That was one of the little 
niceties of good service which he found to be 
much appreciated. Nor did he ever enter im- 
mediately upon the knocking. A most con- 
scientious fellow — who did not go unrewarded. 
Certainly they called each other by two of the 
queerest names that he had ever heard, but even 
that did not surprise him. He had heard 
queerer things in his time. 

“Here’s something for you, Ganymedes,” 
said Vermont as he slipped half a sovereign 
into the spacious palm. 

“George, sir,” replied the unctuous one. 

“I prefer the other. But no matter; the of- 
fice is the same.” 

George, or Ganymedes, opened a wistful 
if watery eye. He did not know what the 
gentleman was driving at, but he did know 
that the gold was good. And if one, why not 
120 


The TV oman, the Man , and the Monster 


the others? Life, even in a country town, held 
many possibilities. 

The young lady in the office was also inter- 
ested in the pair. She felt sure that Androm- 
eda was an actress, at least. The register 
showed “Mr. and Miss Carey Vermont,” but, 
as she naively suggested, she had “been there 
before,” adding colloquially, if somewhat am- 
biguously, that she “wasn’t taking any,” and 
winding up the whole with a significant, if 
equally ambiguous, “not half.” 

“ ’E calls ’er Dromedary,” said George, by 
way of explanation. 

“Dromedary!” exclaimed the young lady. 
“Good Lor’! And what does she call him?” 

“Percyhus.” 

“You mean Percy?” 

“Well, p’raps that’s ’er manner of saying 
it. They talk the queerest lingo; don’t know 
what they’re drivin’ at arf the time. I believe 
they’re furriners.” 

“What nonsense! The gentleman speaks 
perfect English.” 

“Well, ’e don’t speak it same as me.” 

“I should hope not.” 

“Though I told ’im my name was George — 
121 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


plain George — ’e goes on calling me Granny 
Meads — just as if I was a blessed old woman.” 

“So you are, and a stupid one, too. You 
ought to be a detective.” 

But George’s stubby fingers were fingering 
the gold piece in his waistcoat pocket. He had 
no objection to being stupid at the price. 

Though Carey Vermont had made up his 
mind to fulfill his strange contract to the letter, 
he could not hide from himself the fact that it 
was incongruous in the extreme, and one of 
which it would be folly to attempt a minimising 
of the dangers. Yet never for a moment did 
he waver in outward consideration of her. In- 
wardly, it is true, he was much perturbed ; for, 
try he never so hard, he could not but acknowl- 
edge her subtle influence, and he wondered how 
it was going to end. She, on the other hand, 
appeared to be perfectly unconscious of her 
power, nor did the situation seem to appeal to 
her as being anything out of the ordinary. 
Sometimes he thought her looks betrayed a 
deeper meaning than her words. She must know 
as well as he how extraordinary was this situa- 
tion, and, like him, wonder what was to be the 
end of it. But all this she covered with so 
122 


The Woman j the Man , and the Monster 


charming an inconsequence that he was forced 
to take his tone from her. In some amazing 
manner they had come together, and in an 
equally amazing manner the connection would 
continue. 

Among her other accomplishments was that 
of music. In their sitting-room was a small 
piano, the tone of which happened to be quite 
good. He had seen it there, but, having no 
faith in wayside instruments, had not dared 
to open it. Casually he asked if she could 
play. She admitted that she could — a little. 
With some trepidation he suggested that she 
might try the instrument. She made no demur 
— she never demurred at anything. But she 
no sooner touched the piano than he became 
all attention. 

“It’s rather a nice tone,” she said, turning 
to him with a smile. 

“Play, Andromeda.” 

She played on and on. He found here that 
they had a common sympathy. She finished a 
dreamy nocturne of Chopin, and again turned 
to him, the music in her eyes. 

“Of course, you sing?” 

“A little.” 


123 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


He knew she must from the sweetness of 
her voice. She sang a quaint little French 
song, “Obstination,” with its wailing “en 
mourir , en mourir A second time she sang 
it for him. He was enraptured. Her voice was 
a soprano, of no great compass, but exquisitely 
sweet. 

“Who are you, Andromeda?” he said. 

“What do you mean — who am I ?” ' 

“You are an artist.” 

“Do you think so? What do you think of 
this?” 

She sang him Godard’s Berceuse de Jocelyn, 
a haunting, wailing, beautiful thing, which 
seemed to wring the very soul out of him. 

“Dors, dors! — le jour hpeine a lui” 

“Don’t!” he said. 

“Why?” 

But he would not tell her — or perhaps his 
eyes told her. She rose and softly closed the 
piano. Crossing to the window she looked 
out into the street. 

“What a beautiful night!” she said. 

“Let us go out in it.” 

It was not night, but a more balmy, a more 
124 


The Woman, the Man, and the Mobster 


beautiful day. Night comes late in the sum- 
mer and goes early. There was a mellow soft- 
ness in the air which the day never knows, a 
lingering opalescence in the sky which made 
all things exquisitely clear. Away over the 
trees was a crescent moon with one bright star. 
Other couples were slowly pacing the same 
road, each couple apparently oblivious of the 
other’s presence. 

“You are an artist, Andromeda,” he re- 
peated. She laughed softly. 

“I used to be fond of singing.” 

“And are not?” 

“Not now.” 

“Why?” 

“It has memories.” 

“I think you sing deliciously.” 

“Then I will sing for you.” 

“Not if it awakens memories you would 
rather forget.” 

“Oh, what does it matter now? Once I 
thought that one could forget if one wished to. 
But that is impossible; so why trouble?” 

“I would not have you remember unhappy 
things.” 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Then you must rob me of this thing called 
memory.” 

“I would do that, too, if I could. I would 
make you forget everything up to the day of 
our meeting.” 

“I wish you could,” was her earnest re- 
sponse. 

“Let me try.” 

“To change the seasons, stop the rise and fall 
of the tide? We, too, have our ebb and flow. 
Sometimes I wish mine would carry me away 
out to sea and never bring me back. Did you 
see those lovers?” she asked, changing her 
theme with that suddenness with which he was 
fast growing accustomed. 

“Which?” 

“Where are your eyes, Perseus?” 

“In yours, I think. But what of those lov- 
ers?” He looked round as if to make good 
the omission. 

“The moment passes, Perseus, and the pity 
is that we do not know it.” 

“Is this my moment? Andromeda.” 

“Well?” 

“I am falling desperately in love with you.” 

“You know perfectly well that you’re not.” 

126 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


She laughed lightly. “Besides, you know you 
mustn’t. And it’s not fair to talk like that. 
You make me think things. Moreover, I don’t 
believe you know what love is.” 

“You could teach me.” 

“I shall not try. You know the bargain, 
Perseus; just pals. I am sorry if that is not 
enough; but there is no more. Remember, 
you have agreed to tell me when the contract 
palls.” 

“I remember. Andromeda, look into my 
eyes. Can you see shame there?” 

“Not shame; just a little regret.” 

“Yet there should be shame, for I am 
ashamed of myself. Yet perhaps you under- 
stand. If so, you will not judge me too harsh- 
ly. Look on it as a touch of vanity. There is 
no reason why I should appeal to you.” 

“On the contrary, there is every reason. 
Only this is an ideal friendship of ours, and 
I don’t want to spoil it.” 

“I don’t believe you trust me yet.” 

“Surely I have trusted you as no man was 
ever trusted before? Why, I have let you do 
things for me that if — if I had any reputation 
to lose would be my ruin. Fortunately, I have 
127 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


none, nor little wish for any. I cannot con- 
ceive the possible use of a reputation. Why 
should people bother about one? And what is 
a reputation? Whom does it affect?” 

“No one but a woman.” 

“And when the woman is above a reputa- 
tion?” 

“She cannot be.” 

“Perseus, that sentiment savours of the re- 
spectable middle classes, and I’m sure you’re 
not that ; those classes which are still so servile 
as to pardon in their so-called ‘betters’ what 
they would not overlook in their own ranks. 
What of the queens, princesses, ladies of title 
who are known to be . . . Perseus, Per- 

seus, this will not do. You know as well as 
I that we speak with bated breath of the sins 
of those in high places, as though their mis- 
deeds were something too sacred for us even to 
discuss. You smile. I exaggerate grossly? 
But do I? That smile of yours is the sure 
passport of the elect to perpetual supremacy. 
If you would not smile in that superior way 
there might be hope.” 

“For what ? For whom ?’ ’ 

“For me — for you.” 

128 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Perhaps you’re right. But what does it 
all amount to? How can we alter things? If 
the world condones in others what it blames in 
us, so much the worse for the world — and for 
us. Anyway, for the majority of us it is so 
hopeless that I cannot withhold admiration 
from those who have had sufficient temerity 
to seize the advantage, and insolence enough to 
hold it.” 

“They could not hold it but for fools.” 

“With which, luckily for them, this globe is 
over-peopled.” 

“Yet we sneer at the Arab and his kismet.” 

“It is that imaginary right to sneer at others 
which holds us in thrall. Andromeda, we are 
wading a little out of our depth; let us turn 
round. This ocean of speculation is boundless; 
there is no finality to what might be.” 

“And the vast majority are still in thrall.” 

“Still in thrall, and perfectly content with 
their thraldom.” 

“I hate and despise them,” she said vehe- 
mently. 

“Quite right. It’s really all their worth. 
But they also have their uses, and the wise 
ones use them.” 


129 




XI 

Each hour showed some new phase of her 
character. Like a true woman, she was essen- 
tially a contradiction, but a contradiction so 
charming as to melt opposition and annihilate 
logic. It rather amused him to find heresy 
issuing from such a charming mouth. Ortho- 
doxy and beautiful paganism could not with 
propriety walk hand in hand; but if impro- 
priety were always to assume such a fascinating 
guise he could quite comprehend its power. 

The next morning he received another des- 
pairing letter from Ixion. That worthy had 
duly carried out instructions, but being en- 
tirely in the hands of the manufacturers he 
could not say when the order would be com- 
pleted; though he, Carey Vermont, might rest 
assured that not a moment would be wasted 
by “yours respectfully, J. Smales.” 

As a matter of fact, Carey Vermont was 
thinking little and caring less what became of 
130 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


J. Smales. Nevertheless, he as usual handed 
the letter across to Andromeda, and watched 
her curiously as she eagerly glanced through 
the missive. With a sigh of relief she laid it 
on the table. 

“Another free day,” she said. “What shall 
we do with it?” 

“Whatever you please.” 

She was looking radiant, and his glance was 
full of admiration. Each day, each hour, al- 
most, she seemed to increase in loveliness. The 
shadows had gone from under the eyes, and 
that strange pallour of the skin which he had 
first noted had almost entirely disappeared. 

“You are happy, Andromeda?” 

“Perfectly.” 

She seemed surprised at the question, not 
a little of which was betrayed in the tone of 
her reply. He felt that the question was both 
awkward and unnecessary. Yet perhaps it 
was prompted as much by thought of himself 
as of her. 

“Look,” she said, holding out her hands. 
The dull circles round her wrists had almost 
faded away. “In another day or two they will 
be gone.” 


131 


The Woman , the Man , and! the Monster 


Closely he examined the dainty wrists. He 
would have kissed them had he dared. 

“How you must have suffered!” he said. 

“It was not nice,” she admitted. “I must 
have been there two or three hours before you 
came. Once two men passed on the other side 
of the plantation — rough men, by their voices. 
I was afraid to call them. I wonder what 
would have happened? And yet, as the time 
passed no one came near, I was sorry that I 
had not called. They could not have treated 
me worse than ... I was beginning to 
despair when you came. How surprised you 
looked!” 

“I was.” 

She smiled across at him with clear eyes. 

“You were very generous. I liked you for 
the way you did it, Perseus. You were a 
dear.” 

“And suppose I had been one of those rough 
men?” 

“Just then I was wavering betwixt extremes, 
with anger, perhaps, predominant. I would 
have welcomed the brute or the angel. Either 
could have bargained with me, and I should 
have kept the bargain. Perhaps the brute 
132 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


would have been the more welcome, for I was 
aflame with anger, and might even have de- 
lighted in my own degradation. You do not 
understand the feeling? I think it must be 
purely feminine. We are amazing creatures, 
Perseus; there is no comprehending us.” 

“I almost wish I had been a brute,” he said. 

“But I should have hated you in the end. 
You guess that I am not an angel?” 

“I am content to wait for the angels. Later, 
I have no doubt, I shall appreciate them 
more.” 

She made a quaint little mouth. 

“I rather expected a compliment there.” 

“But you forget that compliments are for- 
bidden — among pals.” 

She was inexpressibly bewitching just then. 
Almost he thought that there was a challenge 
in her smile, defiance in her glance. 

“How old are you, Perseus?” she asked sud- 
denly. 

“Spare my grey hairs.” 

“There are a few above the ears.” 

“Thirty-six,” he said. 

“So many!” 


133 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


“Years, not hairs. Am I too old? Have I 
lived too long?” 

“I am twenty-five, and I have lived longer 
than you. In ten years’ time I shall be an old 
woman.” 

“You will not think so then. After thirty 
the women of these days grow younger.” 

Slowly she shook her head. 

“I shall paint, dye my hair, corset tighter, 
massage my face before going to bed, but I 
shall not grow younger. Perhaps I shall grow 
fat and develop a double chin.” 

She laughed at the horrors which were so 
far away, as the young make a jest of death. 
He could not conceive it possible that she 
should ever lose the wonderful line of that 
dainty chin. When he first saw the Venus de 
Milo he sat gazing with wonder at the superb 
line of chin and mouth and brow. Years after 
he sat and watched it again, and the same per- 
fect line was there. The years had left no im- 
press on the marble. A thousand years hence 
she would be the same. Just then he thought 
of that grand stone creature, and felt a pang 
for women. 


134 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“At all events,” he said, “that is a long way 
off. You are perfect now, Andromeda.” 

“I see you insist on the compliment. I won- 
der what J. Smales will think?” 

But she was smiling as one who was secretly 
amused, and he took courage from the sign. 

“Oh, hang J. Smales. I, too, shall pres- 
ently begin to consider him a nightmare.” 

“Is he married?” 

“Yes — at least, I believe so.” 

“And you have taken him away from her? 
How cruel!” 

“On the contrary, I’m giving him a holiday.” 

“What is she like, then?” 

“Just what the wife of a man called J. 
Smales would be. You can see her?” 

“I can. Curious that these people should 
be so very like us.” 

“I believe they are born in pretty much the 
same manner. Nature is too consistently uni- 
form to be just. But we have our revenge 
on her.” 

“How?” 

“By rising superior to her vain attempts at 
levelling. One portion of her creatures passes 
its days in looking up, the other in looking 
135 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


down. I suppose we know the right from the 
wrong, as the right and the wrong go in this 
world, but for want of a sight of the true God 
we set up false idols. And probably the idols 
are quite good enough for the worshippers.” 
An amused smile played round the corners of 
her mouth. “A nice early morning discourse!” 
And he laughed. “Let us get out in the sun.” 

Later in the day they mounted the adjacent 
hill known as the Hog’s Back. A more imagi- 
native people would have given this beautiful 
elevation a more charming name, something 
fanciful, or, at least, suggestive of the poetic. 
Or perhaps the person who christened it may 
have thought a fine hog a beautiful sight. One 
should not be quick to judge. Andromeda 
thought the view charming, and, sitting on the 
grass some distance from the wayside, let her 
eyes wander across the valley and the wide ex- 
panse of far-stretching country. It had been 
a pretty stiff pull up the hill, but they were 
well rewarded by the exquisite view. The ex- 
ertion had brought a charming colour to her 
face. She breathed hard, but with evident en- 
joyment of the act of breathing, inhaling the 
golden scented air with the utmost relish. 

136 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


Sprawling on the grass by her side, he looked 
up into her face and thought strange, wild, 
impossible things. With exultation his eyes 
wandered over her, from her dainty feet and 
ankles, seen by the skirt shortening as she sat, 
to the crown of her glorious hair. There was 
no flaw in her, and a sudden intense longing 
for her burned like fire through his blood. This 
was the woman of women; the one thing he 
desired above all things on earth, in heaven. 
The fullness and the madness of summer was 
upon the land, and in his brain and in his 
blood. 

All unconscious, she gazed away across the 
landscape, chatting volubly the while; but as 
she turned, the movement brought her closer 
to him. Mingled with the sun and the air, the 
sweetness of the grass and of the good brown 
earth, was the sweetness of this adorable crea- 
ture; a subtle perfume, as it were, that flew 
like a narcotic to the brain. He caught her 
in his arms, drew her down to him, and kissed 
her passionately. 

For a moment or so she lay passive in his 
arms, letting him kiss her mouth, her cheeks, 
her neck. Her eyes closed like one who is 
137 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


faint and giddy, and he kissed the heavy white 
lids. Against his hand he felt the tumultuous 
rise and fall of her bosom. Then, like one sud- 
denly awaking from a lethargy, she pushed 
him away. 

“Don’t, Perseus!” 

“I’m sorry. No, I’m not sorry; I’m glad.” 

“Is this being good pals?” 

“I love you, Andromeda.” 

“Would you kiss a man friend like that?” 

“Good God, no!” 

“You seem to forget that I am a man friend; 
you seem to forget all that you promised to 
remember.” 

“I admit it. I forget all but that you are a 
lovely woman, and that I love yoil madly.” 

“I knew you would spoil everything,” she 
said regretfully. “And I was beginning to feel 
so happy.” 

“You shall be happier.” 

“No! no! there can be no happiness for me. 
But I did think I could trust you, for I be- 
lieved you to be different from other men. 
Now you have ruined everything.” She looked 
at him reproachfully, but with a quick gesture 
silenced his protest. “What is the use of talk- 
138 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


ing? Naturally, I am to blame; I laid myself 
open to it. But I am sorry; I had hoped for 
something quite different. Of course, a wom- 
an cannot do these things. I was mad to think 
she might. But it was so nice to be pals. Why 
did you do it, Perseus?” 

There was more of wistfulness than of an- 
ger in her big eyes — as though conscious of 
the sudden loss of a dear ideal. He noticed the 
troubled expression, the quiver of the exquisite 
mouth, and he felt that he was all manner of 
unspeakable things. 

“I did it, Andromeda, because I could not 
help myself; because I have at last realised 
that you have become inexpressibly dear to me. 
Of course, I know that I haven’t played the 
game. Not alone have I been unfair to you, 
but I haven’t even been fair to myself. I’m a 
cad!” 

“Oh, no! But I wish you hadn’t. The con- 
ditions were so perfect. I was almost begin- 
ning to fancy that I was the real Andromeda ; 
that this was not modern England with its 
conventions, but a strange, far-off land which 
made our strange life possible.” 

139 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Let it still be possible. Trust me, I will not 
offend again.” 

“But if you love me?” 

The eyes were full of a pathetic inquiry, 
clouded with a strange shadow of regret. 

“I promise to give no sign.” 

“But how shall I forget?” 

“By trying.” She shook her head. “An- 
dromeda, it will make me inconceivably un- 
happy if you do not forgive me. I shall be- 
lieve you think even worse of me than I think 
of myself.” 

“Oh, but I don’t think badly of you at all. 
You have been extremely kind. I am only 
sorry.” 

“I, too, am sorry — in a way. Not that I 
kissed you; the marvel is that I did not kiss 
you long ago. But I am sorry that the cir- 
cumstances make the act so unpleasant. If 
you only knew how contemptible I feel.” 

“Please don’t!” She was smiling now, her 
eyes lingering in his with a pathetic, humorous 
insistence which made him long to commit the 
offence again for such another look. “Let us 
say no more about it. Of the two, I am the 
greater sinner.” 


140 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


The bank on which they were sitting was 
perhaps some twenty or thirty yards from the 
roadway, the road itself, a long white ribbon 
stretching in the direction of Farnham, being 
up to that moment entirely free of any traffic, 
pedestrian or vehicular. But all of a sudden 
the whirring of a motor was heard in the dis- 
tance, and cresting the brow of an incline on 
their right a great green car shot into view. 
Vermont was looking away across the wooded 
valley, his brows knitted with a curious line of 
thought. Plainly enough he heard the whir- 
ring of the wheels, the snorting of the engine, 
though he had not curiosity enough to turn 
round. But Andromeda, whose eyes had 
caught the first gleam of the great car, stif- 
fened perceptibly as she watched, though as 
it drew nearer she turned her head away and 
seemed to shrink deeper in the grass. When 
the great thing had rushed by with a roar, 
leaving in its wake a cloud of dust, he looked 
up at her and was amazed to find her pale and 
trembling. 

“What has happened? Are you cold?” he 
asked anxiously. 

She looked at him with some perplexity, like 
141 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


one who is in doubt as to the genuineness of the 
question. Then she laughed lightly, but not 
with that freedom which she evidently wished 
to convey. 

“It does seem absurd, but I really think I 
am. 

The sun was shining brightly; the breeze 
that came to them, warm and coy, was scarce- 
ly sufficient to stir the tops of the longest 
grasses. Summer was in the air, on the earth. 
He could not realise that she should be cold, 
and a sudden anxiety leapt to his eyes. 

“Let us walk,” he suggested. She ac- 
quiesced without demur, but she was strangely 
silent as they retraced their steps. 

As they approached the brow of the hill, 
which gave them a fine view of the old town, 
she seemed insensibly to draw him away from 
the road. 

“Don’t let us return yet,” she said. “It 
seems a pity to leave this view and this air.” 

“Then you feel better?” 

“Ever so much. That sensation has quite 
passed away. It was ridiculous of me.” 

Again she seated herself, he sprawling be- 
side her on the grass. 


142 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Do you know, Andromeda, you frightened 
me horribly just now.” 

“Did I, really?” 

“I could not help thinking, if anything were 
to happen.” 

“How awkward it would be for you? But 
you needn’t worry. Nothing good is ever like- 
ly to happen to me.” 

“I think I could bear the good.” 

“We will not quarrel over the term. Good 
and evil, they are just what they seem to the 
one most interested. By the way, did you see 
that car just now?” 

“I heard it. Do you know, I hadn’t curios- 
ity enough to turn round.” 

“That was an error, Perseus. You might 
have found it interesting.” 

“In what way?” 

“It belonged to the monster.” 

“You mean ” He leant forward, looking 

at her with eager eyes. 

“Precisely.” 

“That was why ■” 

“That was why.” 

His look grew troubled. 

“Andromeda.” 


143 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“Well?” 

“Does it make any difference?” 

“All the difference in the world — the differ- 
ence between goodness and badness, between 
vice and virtue. Why does the sight of some 
people set all hell whirling within us?” 

Her brows contracted until the eyes nar- 
rowed curiously; the little teeth came together 
with a sharp click. 

“Did he see you?” he asked anxiously. 

“No; I almost wish he had. The madman! 
He was travelling at a terrific rate. I hope 
he has broken his neck at the hill. Let us go 
and see.” 

But this impious hope was denied her. As 
they descended the twisting road there was no 
sight of the great green car. That providence 
which preserves the wicked, while it uncere- 
moniously flings the good into the nearest ditch, 
had remained true to its character. 

“I wish I had seen him,” said Perseus un- 
thinkingly. “I might have known him.” 

“If you had,” she answered promptly, “you 
would have seen no more of me.” 

On second thoughts he was glad he had not 
seen him. 


144 


XII 


But for the remainder of that afternoon the 
incident flung a shadow upon their intimacy. 
Arriving at the hotel Andromeda went at once 
to her room, saying she would rest till dinner, 
and he was diplomatic enough to leave her in 
peace. That she was considerably distressed 
by this unexpected encounter there could be 
little doubt, and that it showed a less pleasing 
side of her character was likewise most evident. 
Who, then, was the man whom she, in keeping 
with their assumed characters, had designated 
the monster? He would have given much to 
have caught a glimpse of him. Even as it was 
there was a chance of discovering his identity 
through exhaustive enquiry. Yet this, too, 
might lay him, and her, open to suspicion, and 
on the whole he decided to let the incident go. 
Moreover, was he so unfortunate as he was at 
first inclined to think? If, as she had said, the 
seeing of him had meant seeing no more of 
145 


The Woman , the Man and the Monster 


her, then he was content to forego all knowl- 
edge of this sudden and mysterious rival. 

Yet it was weary work trying to kill time 
till dinner. Forced absence from her proved 
more conclusively than he had ever dreamt how 
necessary she had become to him. Before that 
singular meeting on the hilltop, which at times 
even now he seemed scarcely to realise as a 
truth, he had been content to jog along with 
J. Smales as companion. Now he knew that 
such companionship would bore him intolera- 
bly. The glory of Ixion had departed; even 
the twirling of his wheel no longer fascinated 
by conjecture. 

He strolled round to the garage, ostensibly 
to look at his crippled beauty, but in reality to 
kill time. Also, it was possible that shelter 
might have been given to a car that came 
through Farnham. But if so he had heard 
nothing of it, nor did he think it necessary to 
make enquiries. Speaking generally, he was 
not inquisitive. Long ago he had found that 
the thing which people desired to hide was 
probably well worth hiding. One rarely learnt 
anything of value from probing into secrets. 
On the contrary, it frequently happened that 
146 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 

exposure revenged itself in a peculiarly un- 
pleasant manner. It is true there were great 
possibilities in Andromeda, some of which 
might be safely left in abeyance. 

It was not without a little anxiety that he 
waited for her at dinner, but with her entrance 
all his fears vanished. Whatever she may have 
thought or felt during the period of her ab- 
sence, she certainly showed no trace of now. 
Her face was cloudless, her eyes were bright, 
her whole manner entirely fascinating. Close 
to observe her every mood, he became almost 
insensibly aware of a subtle change in her, a 
change which he at first had found some diffi- 
culty in analysing. It was not that she had 
grown absolutely harder and more defiant, but 
that feminine gentleness and ready acquies- 
cence which he had so greatly admired seemed 
to have given place to a suggestion of daring, 
which she betrayed more in the glance of her 
eyes and the poise of her head than in what she 
actually said or did. Certainly he had never 
found her more fascinating. She prattled 
volubly of countless inconsequent matters, her 
eyes meanwhile never ceasing to play on him 
with merciless effect. Marvellous, too, how in- 
147 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


geniously she used her scanty wardrobe, and 
what a glorious crown she made of her hair. 
No man could possibly dream of the straits 
into which she had been driven by necessity; 
no man would have seen in her aught but a 
beautiful woman in an extremely becoming 
gown. 

Throughout the meal she exerted herself to 
charm as she had never done before. It seemed 
as though she was determined not to let go 
by a single moment in dullness. Never had he 
known her wit so keen, her manner so adora- 
ble. She had even a smile and a word for the 
imperturbable Ganymedes of the rusty face. 
She was all life, gaiety, excitement, and even 
while Perseus made heroic if futile efforts to 
keep pace with her, he could not help wonder- 
ing what it all might mean. But her constant 
sallies left him no time for gloomy speculation. 
She caught him up in the whirlwind of her 
fascinations and spun him round at will. 

She smoked a cigarette with him over the 
coffee. 

“Another of my vices,” she said. “I am full 
of them to-night.” 

“Andromeda,” he answered gravely, “I did 
148 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


not know until to-night that vices were so 
charming.” 

“You have not yet learned to live.” 

“Upon my soul, I think you’re right. I 
seem to realise at last that I have been missing 
something.” 

Her eyes were shining at him through a 
cloud of smoke, mystically luminous, compel- 
ling, insistent. A curiously fascinating curve 
showed the line of white teeth behind the red 
lips. 

“That is so like a man,” she laughed. “There 
is no end to his vanity.” 

“But I assure you I feel extremely humble.” 

“Of all vanities, that which apes humility is 
the most contemptible, because so hypocritical.” 

“Then you don’t believe in the gospel of hu- 
mility?” 

“It has done more harm to the world than 
all the other vices put together.” 

“As, for instance?” 

“In stunting the development of mind, 
thought, action. It has kept the world back 
a thousand years.” 

“Then you are not an advocate of non- 
149 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


resistance? You would not turn the other 
cheek?” 

“No. Would you?” 

“I’m afraid not. You would hit back?” 

“Hard! Why should man be the only ani- 
mal mutely to accept a flogging?” 

“Because he is the superior of all other 
animals.” 

“Who shows his superiority by allowing his 
brother animals to walk over him?” A mock- 
ing smile gave a scornful curl to her mouth. 
“That is why the nations arm, and are always 
ready to fly at each other’s throat? Perseus.” 

“Well?” 

“Are you very stupid to-night, or am I?” 

“I can vouch for your brilliance, at least. 
We will leave the other part of the question 
unanswered.” 

“And to what do you attribute that — bril- 
liance?” 

“The natural state of an exceedingly versa- 
tile mind.” 

She smiled. “You should be called Ulysses, 
the wily one.” 

“I assure you I never felt less wily in my 
life. All that is primitive in my nature is sim- 
150 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


ply surging to the top. I am like a boy, An- 
dromeda, and you have bewildered me. I think 
you are wonderful to-night.” 

“Only to-night?” 

“Always, but to-night more so than ever.” 

“I wonder how much of that you mean?” 

“Have you not forbidden me to say?” 

They were sitting with elbows on the table 
looking across at each other. His gaze was 
full of a frank admiration which he made not 
the slightest effort to conceal. Now and again 
her heavy brows went together in serious 
thought. She was as one who is trying to see 
definitely through a mist, as one who believes 
that the truth is hidden there if she could only 
see it. 

“If I could only be sure.” 

“Let me try to convince you.” 

“What’s the use? I cannot be convinced 
against my will.” 

“And I cannot convince you?” 

“I did not say that.” She smiled. “You 
think it strange that I should be scrupulous? 
Yet it seems stranger to me. Many people 
would call it absurd. Perhaps it is, but many 
people might not understand.” 

151 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


He frankly admitted to himself that he was 
one of their number; but when that curious 
speculative mood of hers was on there was little 
to be gained by argument. Slowly he arose 
and crossed to the open window. 

“It’s a beautiful night,” he said. “What do 
you say to a stroll?” 

“Would you rather?” 

“I am in your hands, Andromeda.” 

“But I don’t want you to be in my hands. 
I want to be in yours. I want you to say what 
I am to do. To-night the command is yours.” 

“Then we will stay in, and you shall sing to 
me.” 

He did not notice the deep and instantane- 
ous glow that passed over her face and neck, 
for he had turned to ring the bell. With the 
arival of George he began soberly to fill a pipe. 
Then she opened fire on the rusty one with a 
series of questions. Were there many visitors 
in the hotel? No one but themselves, answered 
Ganymedes. Did motorists usually put up at 
that house? At times quite a number. Had 
many arrived that day? Only one, who had 
come rather early from Winchester, but he only 
152 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


stopped to have a drink and buy some petrol. 
Then he took the London road. 

“One would come through Farnham from 
Winchester?” 

“More’n likely,” answered the rusty one, 
“especially if ’e wanted to do the ’Og’s Back.” 

When he had gone she turned to Perseus, 
who was questioning her with an amused smile. 

“I don’t want to annoy the other visitors,” 
she explained. 

“Ever considerate.” 

“Well, you know, they might not appreciate 
my singing as much as you do. Now, sit down 
and smoke, and don’t try to think that you are 
unhappily married. I promise you that last 
evil shall not be yours.” 

“Then you are not going to marry me?” 

“I promise. I have too much respect for 
you, mon ami." 

“But, hang it all, don’t say you respect me. 
That would he the last straw. You’ll be look- 
ing on me as a brother next.” 

“I never had a brother,” she replied, an odd 
catch in her voice. 

“You are lucky.” 

“I wonder?” 


153 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


She turned to the piano. He drew the easy- 
chair into a position which enabled him to watch 
her face. Then she began to sing. 

She sang and played to him, bene placito, 
filling in the interludes with snatches of conver- 
sation to the low accompaniment of the piano. 
Perseus lay hack in his chair and watched her 
every movement of supple body and supple 
wrist. There were no contortions of the face, 
no straining at top notes. Such voice as she 
possessed was admirably produced, the best 
being got out of it with the least effort. Sen- 
timental ballad or showy chanson came alike 
to her: she was pathetic and brilliant by turns. 
One quaint French piece set his blood sing- 
ing, his pulses leaping. “Amour, amour ” — 
the world seemed full of love. Everything else 
faded into nothingness. There was nothing 
worth living for but love — the love of a man 
and a woman! There came to him a great 
longing to take her in his arms and hold her 
close, so close that he could count every beat of 
her heart, every struggling breath, hear the 
singing of her blood as it coursed madly 
through her veins. And yet he sat with chin in 
hand and watched her, outwardly so greatly 
154 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


master of himself, but inwardly as helpless as 
a drowning man in the grip of a tempestuous 
sea. 

Sometimes she would stop and turn to him 
her head perched quaintly on one side. 

“Did you like that?” 

“You sang it beautifully.” 

“It is a pretty song.” 

Who was she, and whence her accomplish- 
ments? He hated that last word; it reminded 
him of inferior things, inferior creatures. And 
yet he thought of it for want of a better. Oc- 
casionally he was troubled with a curious, al- 
most a mean, thought. One cannot for ever 
embrace the ideal, or live in a world of make- 
believe. A hundred times he told himself it 
did not matter who or what she was ; and again 
he as often found himself perturbed with men- 
tal inquiry. And then the charm of her per- 
sonality would seize him once more, hold him 
with iron strength in its soft, velvet grip, and 
spin him hither and thither at will. 

Never before had he seen such a curve of 
chin and neck. It showed most markedly when 
she turned three-quarter face to him, which 
she did so frequently as to make him wonder. 

155 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


t “You have studied that pose?” he said. 

“Would you have a woman neglect an obvi- 
ous duty to herself?” 

“You are frank.” 

“Why should I not be? Nature has given 
the lion its strength, the cat its claws, the bird 
its talons and beak. For nothing, think you, 
or mere accident?” 

“And woman her beauty,” he added. 

“It is something out of the universal waste. 
You do not deny that beauty is power?” 

“No.” 

“You think me rather good-looking?” 

“I think you are the most beautiful woman 
in the world. I think there never was such 
a woman as you.” 

“Perhaps you’re right — though not exactly 
in that sense. Yet, after all, what is has been, 
and what has been will be again. There is 
nothing new under the sun.” 

“Beauty is always new,” he said. 

“A variation of the universal octave,” and 
by way of illustration she ran her fingers 
lightly over the keys. 

“It is an abiding joy,” he said. 

“Not always.” 


156 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“It shall be so with me.” 

“My dear Perseus, you are growing senti- 
mental.” 

She turned from him with a low laugh and 
dashed into a lively theme. Through the be- 
wildering maze of sound his mind wandered 
slowly, now entirely at fault, and now seem- 
ing to see with clearness. Yet so surely as he 
plunged forward, so surely did he return to 
the starting place. The labyrinth wound in- 
numerable intricacies about him. He stumbled 
forward merely to grope his way back again. 


157 


XIII 


“I often wonder what becomes of our old 
loves.” 

It was a lull in her singing, and he seemed 
unconsciously to utter the thought. 

“Is it profitable to inquire?” she asked, her 
head perched archly on one side, her lips rip- 
pling with amusement. 

“Perhaps not. Sing that Italian song 
again.” 

“Old loves,” she continued musingly, her 
fingers lightly touching the keys, “are like the 
roses of last year, the faint memory of some 
sweet perfume — a dream that on the whole we 
are not sorry to have dreamt. No hour of agony 
is without its moment of peace. It was a kind- 
ly thought of yours, Perseus, and one that has 
something deeper than kindliness behind it. It 
lays bare your soul, mon ami , and you need 
not be ashamed of it. Many men are only too 
ready to forget the women who have ministered 
158 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


to their pleasure. I’m rather glad you’re not 
one of them.” 

“Are you not sure you rate me too highly?” 

“I have no more illusions. The world has 
not pampered me enough to keep me childish. 
You have been kind to women?” 

“My dear Andromeda, I lay no claim to any 
of the transcendent virtues.” 

“But you wonder what becomes of the old 
loves, and you think kindly of them? That is 
a star, Perseus, which seems to shine brightly 
above the desolate waste of woman. Are you 
a man of many loves?” 

“Andromeda!” 

“Oh, I don’t blame you, only I hope you 
have been kind. Though a woman gives freely, 
she is also a creature of exquisite sensibility, 
and of a surpassing imagination. To her that 
pain is the acutest which seems the crumbling 
of an ideal. What do you think of women, 
Perseus? What do you really think of me?” 

“You have forbidden me to say.” 

“Perhaps I am wiser than I think.” 

For a time neither spoke. Softly, dreamily, 
her fingers wandered over the keyboard, and 
the music which issued thence seemed indica- 
159 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


tive of her thoughts. Strangely he watched 
her, almost gloomily. There was, then, a depth 
in this woman which he had failed utterly to 
fathom. He was like one who, standing in the 
midst of a vast plain, gazes at the range of 
mountains that touch the horizon, and wonders 
what lies beyond. 

“Have you ever been very happy?” she 
asked at last, turning to him with eyes that 
were burning with thought. 

“At times I have fancied that something of 
happiness was mine.” 

“Fancied?” 

“To-night I know it might be.” 

Again she ran her fingers lightly and swiftly 
over the keys, and then again more slowly, the 
weird melody coming to him in broken inter- 
vals, like gasps from a choking throat. 

“Aren’t you tired of my playing?” 

“No,” he answered simply. Tired of her 
playing! It was a part of her. 

“Then I am,” she said. “Give me a ciga- 
rette.” 

She left the piano and came to the table. He 
sprang hastily to his feet, gave her the ciga- 
rette and struck a match. She held up her 
160 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


face to his, and the glow of her eyes dazzled 
him. To control himself just then needed the 
supremest effort of his life. Her lips quivered 
faintly as with a smile of triumph. It did not 
need the flickering of the light to tell her he 
was trembling. 

“Don’t smoke,” he said abruptly, blowing 
out the match. 

“Why not?” 

“It will spoil your mouth.” 

“How?” 

“The sweetness of your mouth.” 

“Do you think my mouth sweet?” 

“Good God!” 

A sudden wave of madness swept over him. 
He caught her in his arms and kissed her wild- 
ly, furiously. He felt her pant and struggle, 
and the joy of that struggle was like wine to 
him. 

“You will spoil everything,” she said, re- 
leasing herself. But it seemed to him that her 
protest had lost much of its acerbity. Her 
bosom rose and fell rapidly, her face was 
flushed, her eyes burning. 

“I love you, Andromeda.” 

161 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“But you must not. Remember our com- 
pact. Are you tired of it?” 

“I shall keep it ; but I must love you, too.” 

“Love has a way of parting friends. Do 
you wish me to — go?” 

“I cannot let you go.” 

“Is that for you to say?” 

“Yes — and no. If you go I shall be lost 
utterly.” 

“If I stay you may be lost more utterly.” 

“I’ll risk it; but I must love you, dear.” 

“So like a man,” she said; “he thinks only 
of himself. What of me?” 

“May I not hope that in time you — Androm- 
eda, stay; I must continue to love you, but 
I promise not to offend again.” 

“You promised once before.” 

“Yes. Perhaps I shall not keep my word. 
Why the devil doesn’t Smales come?” he added 
abruptly. 

“Smales! What a horrible thought! But 
perhaps it would be better if he came. He is 
evidently a wise man, and may be of service.” 

“I mean to say,” he began quickly to ex- 
plain, “that if -ve could get away from 
this ” 


162 


The Woman , the Man , arid the Monster 


‘'Why should we go away? Don’t you like 
Guildford?” 

“Too well.” 

“And yet you want to go away? Perseus, 
you are quite impossible to-night. I really 
must leave you.” 

“Not yet.” 

“Oh, but it’s getting late. What will Gany- 
medes say?” 

“Damn Ganymedes!” 

“Now you are getting positively wicked,” 
and she laughed brightly, roguishly, up into 
his troubled eyes. 

“Well, if it isn’t one it’s the other; if it isn’t 
Smales it’s that rusty-faced blighter.” 

“So that between the wheel of Ixion and 
the tray of Ganymedes you are likely to be 
done to death? Courage, mon brave! Per- 
haps we shall circumvent them both. Good- 
night.” 

“Must you, really?” 

“Really.” 

She held out her hand, which he took in a 
tentative fashion; nor did he read the mean- 
ing of her eyes, though he was looking straight 
into them. But the touch of her burning palm 
163 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


thrilled him strangely, and to save himself fur- 
ther confusion he turned hastily away and 
without speaking opened the door. She passed 
out, a strange smile on her lips, but a stranger 
light in her eyes. 

For some time after she had gone he paced 
the room, a prey to intolerable doubt, nor did 
a copious whiskey and soda help him to a solv- 
ing of the problem. That this woman, so 
strangely met, of whom he knew so little, had 
suddenly grown inexpressibly dear to him was 
a subject which no longer offered facilities for 
argument or conjecture. That his first great 
interest had been awakened through the sin- 
gularity of their meeting he was ready to ad- 
mit, but such interest as that meeting had 
awakened had long since merged itself in other 
and dearer instincts. He no longer plagued 
himself with asking who she was. That seemed 
an infinitesimal matter in comparison with the 
greater issues which now perplexed him. That 
he could be greatly in love with her he did not 
doubt. The witchery of her presence flung a 
spell on him from which he had no wish to be 
free. That discretion upon which he had so 
often prided himself seemed to have flown with 
164 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


the winds. Of all that was desirable she was 
the most to be desired. Nothing else seemed 
to matter; nothing else really did matter. 

He refilled his pipe, but smoked mechani- 
cally, with an utter absence of that enjoyment 
which comes to the man who knows that he is 
smoking. Occasionally he went to the window 
and looked out into the quiet street. Uncon- 
scious of time, he seemed to realise but vaguely 
that it was getting late. There was really 
neither late nor early now, but just a fierce, 
unsatisfied longing which completely whelmed 
all other knowledge, or rendered him indiffer- 
ent to it. 

He crossed over to the piano and pressed his 
face close down upon the keys, his lips resting 
where her fingers had rested, and something 
of the music she had made, which was like the 
soul of her, crept into his being. Though his 
arms enfolded space, yet had they enfolded 
her! In imagination he was embracing her 
once again. 

“I love you, Andromeda,” he whispered. 

Wither was it leading him, this mad yearn- 
ing for the strange woman? Her eyes shone 
kindly into his; the red mouth had a pathetic, 
165 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


plaintive whimper. Curiously lovely she was; 
curiously lovely they both were. He kissed that 
wonderful curve of throat and chin. How 
white she was, and how sweet! 

“I love you, Andromeda,” he said again. 

He realised now as he had never done before 
the irrefragable supremacy of force; almost he 
sympathised with that passion which scorns 
convention. The imposition of custom, the re- 
straint of laws ! There were those who heeded 
not these things, wild outlaws of the day. And 
human nature was still the same — and she grew 
lovelier with thought. 

Was it not all exceedingly marvellous? 
Dryad, hamadryad, nymph — had she not come 
to him as something out of the dead centuries? 
Again his eyes feasted on that white loveli- 
ness. It took his breath away. 

“I love you, Andromeda,” he moaned. 

When he looked up she was standing in the 
open door, a curiously bewitching smile on her 
lips. A wrap of some kind had been flung so 
carelessly over her shoulders that it showed her 
smooth, white breast; her bare feet were shining 
in the light. He sprang hastily towards her. 

166 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Why do you not come?” she said. 
“Andromeda!” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” she whispered as she 
nestled in his arms. 


167 


BOOK II 
THE MONSTER 
I 

They sat facing each other across the break- 
fast table, the rusty-faced Ganymedes in at- 
tendance. Andromeda was as bright and bril- 
liant as the day, but Perseus wore a look of 
some preoccupation. George of the mellow 
eyes moved softly from place to place, his well- 
w 7 orn suit of threadbare black shining gor- 
geously in the morning. Unaware of the re- 
straint of one of the two, which was fast bor- 
dering upon irritability, he dawdled about in 
the most exasperating fashion, performing all 
sorts of unnecessary duties, while Perseus, curi- 
ously enough, had not the courage to tell him 
to go. Yesterday he would not have stood on 
such ceremony with a much more important 
personage, but to-day he experienced some 
168 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


wholesome terror of those apparently unseeing 
eyes. 

At last the sloppy one, having done over 
and over again the things which in an ordinary 
way he would never have dreamt of doing, 
slopped off, a much more intelligent look on 
his rusty face than one would have credited 
him with possessing. 

“Confound the fellow!” said Perseus. “I 
thought he would never go.” 

“He certainly has grown most attentive,” 
she admitted. 

He came round to her and caught her in his 
arms. 

“I love you, Andromeda.” 

She felt the hand on her shoulder tremble, 
and her whole body answered with a responsive 
throb. She did not speak, hut she turned her 
face up to him and threw her arms about his 
neck. He kissed her brow, her eyes, her mouth. 

“Now, go and sit down like a good boy. 
What would Ganymedes say if he were to enter 
suddenly?” 

He muttered something not wholly compli- 
mentary to that personage; nevertheless, he 
obeyed. But the glance which she shot across 
169 


The Woman , the Man, arid the Monster 


at him compensated for the cruelty of the sen- 
tence. 

“You are a dear,” she said. 

Never had he known life to sing so sweetly. 
Suddenly the world had grown full of a sin- 
cere and ineffable charm. Summer was hum- 
ming without, and his blood was full of its 
luxuriance and its joy. The real woman had 
come into his life at last and filled to the brim 
his cup of destiny. He would drink deeply 
of it, too — drink to the last dregs. 

“Andromeda,” he said; “and now?” 

He had not spoken for some time, but she 
had been steadily watching him through half- 
closed lids, so that she was almost prepared for 
the sudden interruption. 

“Well, what now?” 

She met his gaze frankly, sincerely. There 
was no apparent effort at either composure or 
indifference, no suspicion of lingering doubt, 
uncertainty or regret. 

“What are we going to do?” 

“My dear Perseus, have I not warned you 
that I abhor prosaic details? Why seek to 
render such a friendship commonplace?” 

“But, my dear girl!” 

170 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“Isn’t the dream a charming one?” 

“So charming that I fear the awakening.” 

“Then why wake? I assure you I am not 
going to — I absolutely refuse to be awakened. 
This new ideal world of ours suits me so nicely 
that I refuse to accept tame realities. What do 
you want?” 

“Nothing but you.” 

“And you have me.” 

“You are a darling!” he said. 

Her eyes shone. “Let me live for a while 
in that belief.” 

“But you would be none the less a darling 
in spite of those realities.” 

“But surely I am real enough? I see what 
it is — you are still curious, inquisitive?” 

“Yes,” he admitted, “that’s it. I want to 
know more of the woman I love. I thought 
it delightful to call you Andromeda, and to 
hear you call me Perseus, but all that was in 
a scarcely serious vein. I can’t go on calling 
you Andromeda now.” 

“Why not? I like it; and surely you don’t 
expect me to call you anything but Perseus? 
Carey Vermont would seem to be a stranger. 
171 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


I told you once that my name was Andromeda 
Brown, but you made me change it.” 

“Change it again,” he said eagerly; “make 
it Andromeda Vermont.” 

“You don’t mean ” 

“But I do. Why not?” 

“You really mean it, Perseus — you really 
mean that you want to marry me?” 

Her eyes were wide with wonder, incredulity. 
A most lovely flush passed over her face and 
stained her white throat. Eagerly she leant 
towards him. 

“That’s what I mean,” he said. “Perseus 
married Andromeda.” 

“And lived happily ever afterwards?” She 
rose and came round to him and flung her 
arms about his neck. “You dear, I love you 
for saying that. It is sweet and good and 
generous of you; but I, too, can be generous 
in my way.” 

He slipped his arm round her waist and 
drew her on to his knee. It was a strong, ca- 
ressing movement, which she answered by 
pressing her cheek to his. 

“Have I not had proof?” he whispered as he 
kissed the tip of her dainty ear. “I love you, 
172 


The W oman, the Man , and the Monster 


Andromeda; every scrap of you is more pre- 
cious to me than my own life. Why, I have 
only begun to live since I met you. You have 
filled my life with your own joyousness and 
beauty. I couldn’t part from you now, my 
dear.” He caught her closer, kissing cheek 
and chin and neck and eyes. “What wonderful 
lids you have,” he said. “When they roll back 
they are like the shutters of heaven. I want 
you, Andromeda; I want you always to be 
near me. There must be not the remotest possi- 
bility of our separation.” 

“Why should there be?” 

“Because I have no hold on you.” 

“Only the strongest. That other hold — the 
legal one — would not weigh so greatly with 
me. I could not suffer a man I did not love. 
Love makes all things easy, Perseus — even 
shame.” 

“There must be no shame. Now do you 
understand?” 

“There is none. We have blotted out the 
word. This is summer, Perseus; the earth is 
singing with joy. Let us sing with it. Be 
content,” she continued earnestly; “take me 
for what I am. It would profit you nothing 
173 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


to know my secret. I have been most un- 
happy, and my unhappiness has been slowly 
killing the better part of me. Restore it. 
Give me peace, give me love. It can t last 
for ever; it is not the nature of these things. 
But while it lasts let it he all in all to us.” 

“It shall be all in all,” he said, “and it shall 
last. Having found you, my beautiful, I can- 
not part with you again. All my life I seem 
to have searched for you. The quest is finished. 
I am content. For you I seem to have come 
upon earth, for you I remain. There is noth- 
ing but you, Andromeda, nothing but you in 
all the wide world.” 

Never a doubt had she of his sincerity, 
though she looked at him with questioning eyes. 
The man’s voice quivered as he spoke, the hand 
that held hers trembled with the joy of an ex- 
quisite passion. Unresistingly she yielded to 
him, thrilling at the touch. In the street out- 
side the traffic rattled by, the patter of feet 
on the pavement; occasionally a hoarse cry or 
a blatant laugh leapt in through the open win- 
dow. But all these passed unheeded. Sum- 
mer was on field and hedgerow, even there 
174 


The W oman, the Man, and the Monster 


in the busy street, and summer was in their 
hearts. 

At luncheon that day George brought Ver- 
mont a telegram, which upon reading he hand- 
ed across to Andromeda without a word. Her 
brows slightly contracted as she read, but she 
was smiling as she looked across at him. 

“No answer,” he said to the attendant Gany- 
medes, who immediately slouched off. 

“So he’s coming down to-day?” 

“So it appears.” 

“What a pity!” 

The message was from Smales, informing 
them that he would arrive that evening. 

“I never knew a manufacturer so prompt,” 
protested Perseus. 

“Or a man so punctilious. I have a ghastly 
idea that his coming will spoil everything.” 

“But, my dear girl, how can it?” 

“I don’t know; but I feel I hate him 
already.” 

He laughed. “Poor Ixion! I assure you he 
is quite harmless. But if you like I’ll wire him 
and tell him not to come.” 

“It might be too late now. Besides, mightn’t 
that make you look a little ridiculous?” 

175 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“I don’t mind that — if you wish it.” 

“But I do not wish to make you look ridicu- 
lous. Only, it seems a pity that a third person 
should intrude. I am very selfish, Perseus — 
I want you all to myself.” 

“Then I’ll telegraph to the beggar and tell 
him to stay.” He sprang to his feet and strode 
towards the bell. 

“No, no; please don’t. It would be too ab- 
surd. Besides, it might be too late.” 

“Then I’ll pack the beggar back to town as 
soon as he arrives.” 

“Without mending the car?” 

“The devil take the car!” 

“Perhaps he will also be good enough to 
take J. Smales.” 

“I don’t care whom he takes so long as he 
leaves me you.” 

“You love me, Perseus?” 

“I adore you!” 

“I like to hear you say these things. Is it 
foolish?” 

“Is the truth foolish — is life foolish?” 

“To some — perhaps.” 

“But we are not living for them. I am sorry 
176 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


for the man who has not some dear woman to 
adore.” 

“And what of the poor woman who has no 
man?” 

“Oh, but a woman can always find some- 
body.” 

“Can she? That’s all you know about it. 
Do you never give a thought to the lonely, 
loveless woman — the woman who has all the 
strength and inclination to love wildly, fiercely, 
happily, yet who through force of circum- 
stance is constrained to hide her unsatisfied 
yearning until it jars and wrings and tears 
her breast? If you have any pity, Perseus, 
spare it for the loveless woman.” 

“Andromeda,” he said, “I am a fool, but 
I shall leam wisdom through you.” 

“You are a man, and men take so many 
things for granted. Women, on the other hand, 
live in a world of dreams, and unless love 
comes to them they perish. Why, of all crea- 
tures beneath the sun there is not one with the 
capacity to love like a woman. Her thoughts 
are your thoughts, her passions your passions. 
In her veins the blood runs as fiercely as in 
your own. Think what women do for love, 

177 


The Woman , the M an, and the Monster 


what they become! This is a problem that 
man wisely shirks ; but he will no longer be able 
to shirk it when he thinks more. The waste 
of woman, the cruel waste of woman! Not all 
her own fault, either. Oh, I’m not blaming 
men. They are what circumstance has made 
them ; I think we are all what circumstance has 
made us. But of all women, think kindliest of 
her who has never known the kiss of lover or 
child.” 

“The loveless woman,” he muttered. 

“The poor, lonely, loveless woman, who sits 
with folded hands and tells her heart to be still; 
whose breast is aching for love, and who dare 
not speak of her anguish. Have you thought 
of this tragedy, Perseus?” 

“I shall think of it,” he said. 


178 


II 

That afternoon they drove again to the little 
inn by the Godaiming Road. 

“We must have one more day to ourselves,” 
she said. “To-morrow he will be here.” 

Quietly he laughed at her fears. That she 
should picture the inoffensive J. Smales as a 
formidable bogey seemed to him highly 
amusing. What she expected to happen with 
the advent of that irreproachable one he could 
not get her to explain. But of one thing he 
was determined: if the presence of the chauf- 
feur proved even remotely disagreeable he 
should go at once. Life was too precious now 
to have even the suspicion of a shadow flung 
upon it. 

The stout landlady with the merry brown 
eyes greeted them with a broad smile and a 
commendable courtesy. 

“We have come to take tea in your delight- 
179 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


ful old garden,” said Perseus gallantly, “if you 
can oblige us with the same.” 

“To be sure, sir. Will you and madam step 
this way?” 

She led them to the flowered retreat which 
he and Andromeda remembered so well, and 
set chairs and a table for them beneath the 
huge mulberry-tree. The garden was just as 
fragrant, just as fresh, and just as full of old- 
fashioned flowers, the perfume from which lay 
like a sweet, invisible mantle on the air. Per- 
seus took off his hat and threw it upon the 
grass. Andromeda settled into a low wicker 
chair with a sigh of content. 

“I should like to live in this garden always,” 
she said. 

“Ah,” replied the landlady, “it’s nice now, 
but you wouldn’t care for it much in the 
winter.” 

Dear, practical, motherly old soul. Androm- 
eda looked up at her and smiled so sweetly 
that she grew quite embarrassed. Perseus fol- 
lowed her as she turned towards the house. 

“We will have some of that excellent cake 
of yours,” he said. “Adso more of that delicious 
180 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


cress and bread and butter. Have you any 
cherries or strawberries?” 

“Both, sir.” 

“Then bring us both. And, oh, by the way, 
if we could have the garden to ourselves.” He 
slipped two or three pieces of silver into her 
plump hand. 

“You shall, sir; have no fear. I don’t won- 
der at it, either. If I was a man I should want 
it, too.” 

“You are extremely sympathetic,” he said. 

“We’re all alike, sir, God be praised.” 

He returned to Andromeda and threw him- 
self on the grass at her feet. 

“What have you been doing?” she asked. 

“Ordering some cherries.” 

He caught her hand and began to play with 
it, impressing a kiss upon the tip of each sepa- 
rate finger, kissing the pink palm, the white 
wrist. 

“It is almost gone,” she said. 

“Yes.” 

There was nothing but the faintest shadow 
of a bruise, so faint, indeed, that one would 
scarcely have noticed it. Tenderly he allowed 
his lips to linger on it. 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“We will think no more of it,” she said. 
“Only pleasant thoughts must be ours in this 
pleasant place.” 

The landlady came bustling along and 
spread a clean white cloth; then she brought 
the fruit, strawberries, firm, clean, fragrant; 
cherries, hard and shining, a glorious blend of 
white and red. 

“I brought some cream,” she explained, de- 
positing a shining white jug on the table. 
“Young ladies are usually fond of strawberries 
and cream.” 

“I love strawberries and cream,” said An- 
dromeda. 

Perseus, still sprawling at his lady’s feet, 
his elbow on her knee, looked up and thanked 
the thoughtful landlady with a charming smile; 
and she, being a woman, was quick to note a 
personable man. Indeed, she told her husband 
afterwards that she never set eyes on a hand- 
somer pair. Which was the handsomer she 
would not like to say, but the man had dreamy 
eyes that made you feel queer all over. 

“Don’t you think,” began Andromeda ten- 
tatively — “at least while she’s here — you look 
like the man in possession?” 

182 


The TV oman, the Man, and the Monster 


“I am.” He kissed the hem of her skirt, the 
point of her little shoe. “Odd,” he mused, 
“how love makes even the most foolish thing 
seem feasible, sensible. What appears to the 
outsider as the rhapsody of the lover is to 
him the tritest of commonplaces. I, too, could 
kiss the ground you walk on, Andromeda, 
hackneyed as the phrase is, absurd as it 
sounds.” Without more ado he lifted her 
foot and kissed the grass beneath it. Then he 
looked up at her with a wonderful yearning in 
his eyes. “It is done! Behold, I have kissed 
the ground beneath your feet, and I do not 
seem to have done an absurd thing, or lost one 
scrap of dignity. This is love, without a doubt, 
the love that obliterates and rebuilds, and seems 
to sanctify the meanest act.” 

Her eyes were shining into his, but with it 
all there was a wistfulness of look which had 
in it much of wonder and of pain. 

“I wish I had met you first,” she whispered. 
“What a waste of happy years. And there 
are so few of them.” 

At last the landlady came with the tea. 

“I’m sorry,” she said; “I’m afraid I have 
kept you waiting.” 


183 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


They both protested that she had done noth- 
ing of the kind. She smiled at that swift and 
emphatic denial, but before taking leave flung 
a comprehensive glance upon the table. 

“I wonder if I have forgotten anything?” 

“Nothing,” Andromeda assured her. 

“If you should want anything more ” 

she began. 

“I will come for it,” said Perseus. 

Andromeda poured out the tea. The teapot 
was a flowered monstrosity, evidently the land- 
lady’s best ; the cups were to match. Androm- 
eda remembered that on the last occasion tea 
had been served from a brown earthenware pot 
with a broken spout. 

“What have you been doing?” she asked. 

“Buying grace, my dear Andromeda. Bread 
and butter first, and cress?” 

“If you please.” 

He helped her to a slice, and selected what 
he thought the greenest and crispest of the 
cress. It was all deliciously fresh and crisp, 
but rare birds must have the best of seed. 

No sound save that of the inarticulate bab- 
bling of nature reached them. There in that 
old-world garden they seemed shut away from 
184 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


the stress and struggle of life. In the tree 
above them the mulberries were ripening gor- 
geously. When he was not admiring the be- 
witching red of Andromeda’s lips, or the 
wondrous glow of her eyes, he was counting in 
an aimless manner the rich fruit of the nearest 
branch. Indeed, he was conscious of doing 
many things, thinking many thoughts, which 
bore no relation to the one thought that in 
reality had absolute possession of him. 

“Oh,” he said, “but this is beyond all things 
beautiful.” 

“You are not sorry that you found me?” 

Her eyes were shining into his, and for an- 
swer he drew her closer to him and kissed the 
heavy, lovely lids. She caught his hand and 
pressed it passionately to her lips. 

“I love you, Perseus!” 

Somewhere a bird was fluting in the dis- 
tance. He heard it with a reeling brain and 
wondered if it was singing to its mate. Truly 
his soul was singing to her, singing the wildest, 
strangest, most beautiful song that ears had 
ever heard. 

She laughed a low, thrilling, happy laugh 
as she seized a strawberry and began to prepare 
185 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


it. He took it from her fingers, dipped it in 
the cream, and then fed her. She held the 
fruit between her teeth and smiled a challenge 
at him. He kissed her, biting off his half of 
the fruit as he did so. Then they both laughed 
with the delight of the thing. 

“Let me feed you, Andromeda,” he said. 

“Am I not big enough to feed myself?” 

“But I like it.” 

“So do I.” 

Also, another game she taught him with the 
cherries. He was dimly conscious of the fact 
that she could teach him much, and that he was 
eager to learn. 

“You must wish,” she explained. “Whoever 
gets the stone will get his wish.” 

But as it was between her teeth that the 
cherry was first placed, he never succeeded in 
securing the stone, though there were other 
compensations. 

“You don’t play fair,” he protested. 

“Then you try.” 

But even then she was successful, for with 
her eyes so close to his he forgot all about the 
fruit. She pouted very prettily. 

186 


The Woman , the Man , arid the Monster 


“I don’t believe you ever played this game 
before.” 

“I am out of practice,” he admitted contrite- 
ly, “but I hope to improve. You must teach 
me, Andromeda. I promise rapid progress.” 

While he prepared the strawberries and 
cream she leant back in her chair, watching him 
through half -closed lids. She was not dissatis- 
fied with what she saw. The face had many 
points which appealed to her. The nose was 
straight, the forehead well developed, the 
mouth clean-cut and firm. She rather thought 
that behind the lazy indolence and indifference 
of his manner there was a latent energy and 
resource which might be cultivated with profit. 
Like so many men of his class, he had allowed 
the best that was in him to lie fallow, hiding 
beneath that worldly air of nonchalance the 
true and serious relation of man to life. 

As he turned towards her she entirely closed 
her eyes. He leant forward and kissed them. 
She looked up smiling. 

“Andromeda,” he said, “you have the love- 
liest lids in the world.” 

“I am glad you think so. I want you to 
187 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


think so. I want you to love me as woman was 
never loved before.” 

“But I do.” 

“Just think of it, Perseus — just think of all 
the men and women who have been lovers! 
Why, even now the world is full of them.” 

“Not lovers like us — there could never be 
lovers like us. The world is not large enough 
for them.” 

“I like to think of old lovers,” she mused; 
“of the women of long ago, the dear, dead 
women of the forgotten centuries. Strange, 
too, is it not, that out of all the years the only 
women who come down to us, the only women 
in whom we take any real delight, are the great 
dead lovers? Strange, too, how time so mel- 
lows their wrongdoing that it seems to shine 
their one redeeming glory. Helen, Cleopatra, 
Mary Stuart. Strange that the national hero- 
ine of the dour religious Scots should be a 
wanton, and their national hero a drunken 
poet! Should we have known Guinevere had 
she been a true wife? Singular commentary 
on the pretentiousness of life, proving beyond 
doubt that the laws of nature and the laws of 
man must always be antagonistic. Sometimes 
188 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


I think I could have been a great lover. Those 
women lived who swayed the rulers of the 
world, whose frown made kings and nations 
tremble. 

‘Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, 

And burnt the topless towers of Ilium V 


Think of it, Perseus — the world in arms for 
a woman’s face! And now!” 

She shrugged her shoulders with disdain, but 
there was a smouldering fire in her eyes which 
might have set ablaze those “topless towers.” 

“I think the times are not so greatly changed 
as you seem to imagine,” he said. “Do you 
suppose woman’s influence in the world is any 
the less because she does not seem to flaunt it? 
Kings still rule the greater portion of the earth, 
and women still rule kings either as wife or 
mistress. Her influence has never waned; I 
think it never will. There is more power wield- 
ed by woman, even in these days, than the 
ordinary man imagines. Indeed, is not all the 
power in her? Petticoat influence, my dear 
Andromeda, has never failed to move the world 
since Eve took that first bite at the apple.” 

She smiled languidly into his eyes. 

189 


The Woman j the Man > and the Monster 


“You are exceedingly wise, Perseus, for you 
realise the limitations of your sex. Yet some- 
how the romance of the thing seems dead.” 

“The centuries will restore it. The vulgar 
incidents of to-day become the romances of to- 
morrow. Time mellows gloriously, as you sug- 
gested. And, after all, they are dead lovers, 
Andromeda, while we are alive.” 

“Yes,” she admitted, “it is something to be 
alive. Yet, if there is any truth in things un- 
known, how much more perfect must be the 
reunion after death, when all love shall become 
perfect, unchangeable. I should like to believe 
it all; I wish I could. One should be strong in 
faith; but what if one is by nature doubting, 
sceptical?” Her voice took a low, musical 
sound; her eyes were dreamily staring into the 
blue infinitude. “Have you ever wondered 
where heaven is?” 

“My dear Andromeda!” he answered with a 
start. 

“I often think of it, but I can’t fix it. Of 
course, once we thought it was somewhere in 
the clouds; but what we call the sky science 
tells us is an infinity of worlds. If such is the 
190 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


case heaven cannot be there any more than it is 
here with us. Where is it, then?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“And hell! Once I thought it was away 
down somewhere in the middle of the earth. 
Where is hell, Perseus?” 

“For many it is here on earth.” 

“That’s a quibble. I mean the hell of fire 
and brimstone, the hell of the Christian, the 
hate that never ceases. Once I feared such 
hatred, now I despise it. The Roman Catho- 
lics have their purgatory, a sort of cleansing- 
house of venial sin. If heaven is above the 
clouds, and hell beneath the earth, where is 
purgatory? These places, if they exist, must 
be somewhere. Tell me, Perseus, what do you 
think of it all?” 

“I have thought of it until my brain has 
grown weary, but I cannot fathom it. I am 
ignorant as a little child.” 

“And I babble nonsense unceasingly? Yet 
why should it be nonsense?” 

“Why should it be nonsense? When the 
intelligent child puts a too pertinent question 
we check it with the cry of ‘silliness.’ ” 

“I think you understand me,” she whispered. 

191 


The W oman, the Man , and the Monster 


He liked these speculative moods in her. 
They seemed to lift her into regions that no 
other woman of his acquaintance had ever 
trodden. Behind the mocking laughter of her 
eyes was a more serious purpose. She was a 
dreamer of strange and wonderful dreams, and 
in a way he felt that he was infinitely little. 
Cleopatra, Helen, Mary Stuart, must have 
possessed some grace beyond that of the merely 
beautiful body. Many women have beautiful 
bodies, but men do not destroy worlds for 
them. 

It was with a chastened spirit, with a feel- 
ing almost of awe, that he took her hand and 
kissed it. Perhaps she realised something of 
what was running in his mind, for with an ex- 
quisitely tender movement she flung an arm 
round his neck and drew his face to her breast. 

“Helen could not have loved Paris more 
than Andromeda loves Perseus,” she whis- 
pered. 

“Nor could Paris have loved Helen so much 
as Perseus loves Andromeda.” 

“Then why should we envy even the gods?” 

“I don’t,” he said. “I rather think the gods 
must envy us.” 


Ill 


Just before dinner Ganymedes entered soft- 
ly and announced that Mr. Smales was waiting 
below. Perseus looked at Andromeda and 
smiled. 

“All right. Tell him I’ll come to him in a 
minute.” 

“But why not see him here?” she interposed. 

“Don’t you mind?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“Very well, George. Bring him along.” 

“Why did you hesitate like that?” she asked 
as soon as the rusty one had slopped off. 

“I was thinking of you.” 

“And so giving that wicked old waiter cause 
for suspicion. Don’t you think he’s a very dis- 
creditable-looking person?” 

“I have no doubt whatever that he is a per- 
ambulating mass of corruption. But, An- 
dromeda ” 

“Oh, I’m not afraid to meet J. Smales,” she 
answered, laughing. 


193 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“Of course not ; but you seem to think ” 

“We’re going to be good friends, he and I, 
you see if we’re not.” 

“Well, he really is an invaluable chap.” 

“Ah, I knew you were only waiting for the 
chance to praise him. Like master like man. 
We are going to be good friends, J. Smales 
and I.” 

“If you say so, that end is already achieved.” 

At that moment a low knock was heard at 
the door, and as a reply to Vermont’s “Come 
in,” the door opened slowly and Ixion ap- 
peared on the threshold. 

“Come in, Smales,” cried Vermont cheerily. 
“Enjoy yourself in London?” 

“Yes, sir; that is, except for ” 

“I quite understand. Pity you let that dis- 
tress you, as I was in no hurry.” 

“The manufacturers, sir; there’s no doing 
anything with them.” 

He advanced a couple of paces into the room 
and then came to a standstill, his large, round 
eyes surreptitiously peeping past his master to 
the other occupant of the room. 

“Well, I suppose it’s all right now?” 

194 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Yes, sir. I brought the wheel down with 
me. We shall be ready to-morrow.” 

“Ah, well, don’t hurry. See that you make 
a good job of it. You remember my cousin, 
J ohn?” He bowed towards Andromeda, who 
advanced smiling. “I am trying to persuade 
her to travel with us.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“But I’m sure you don’t remember me, 
John,” she said. 

“I think so, my lady. You came a cropper 
at Newland’s Corner?” 

“Yes, an awful cropper.” 

J. Smales did not realise the inner meaning 
of those words, but his round eyes opened sym- 
pathetically. 

“I hope your ladyship is feeling quite well 
now?” he inquired solicitously. 

“Never better in my life, thank you. Will 
you have a glass of wine?” 

“Do, John,” insisted Perseus, who noticed 
the hesitation in J ohn’s manner. 

“Thank you, my lady; thank you, sir.” 

With her own hands Andromeda poured it 
out and brought it to him. He drank as one 
195 


The Woman the Man , and the Monster 


in a dream, for she had dazzled him with her 
smile. 

“I have kept your room on,” said Vermont. 
“You must forage round for your own grub.” 

“Yes, sir. Shall you want me any more to- 
night?” 

“Not to-night, John. I will look you up at 
the garage in the morning.” 

Smales backed towards the door and took 
his departure, his eyes glued to Andromeda’s 
face. 

“Well?” inquired Perseus. 

“He’s a dear fellow,” she said. “He has 
lovely eyes — just like a sheep’s.” 

Perseus roared. “Andromeda, you have con- 
quered both master and man.” 

“I told you we should be good friends,” she 
said. 

J. Smales, in the meantime, was slowly 
groping his way downstairs, a succession of 
strange thoughts beating their w r ay with dif- 
ficulty through his slow brain. Expecting to 
find the “guvnor” in an evil humour on account 
of the delay, he had looked with some trepida- 
tion to a bad quarter of an hour. Therefore, 
his pleasure was not greater than his surprise 
196 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


at the extreme cordiality of the reception. At 
the same time his brow was wrinkled with per- 
plexity. Certainly he had never seen anything 
more beautiful than this so strangely found 
cousin, and he tried hard to discover when and 
where he had seen her before. For two years 
now he had been driving for Mr. Vermont, 
during which period he had at various times 
come in contact with most of his employer’s 
friends and relations, the latter of whom were 
happily very few; but he could not recollect 
having seen this lady before. Had he done so 
he could not possibly have forgotten her. 

During his stay in London he had scarcely 
done more than give her a thought. Certainly 
he had not expected to find her in Guildford 
on his return. And then his thoughts suddenly 
flew along another groove, and one which al- 
most frightened him. Was this the cause of 
the “guvnor’s” good humour — was this the rea- 
son why he bore delay with such cheerful in- 
difference? J. Smales may have had sheep- 
like eyes, as Andromeda said, but into them 
came a sudden gleam of intelligence which, had 
she seen, might have startled her considerably. 

George was waiting for him in the passage 

,197 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


which led to the yard, and his ruddy face be- 
trayed an oleaginous solicitude which invited 
confidence. He had a bald head of unimpeach- 
able reverence, and grey hair which, if it did 
not, should have commanded respect. Also, he 
had a soft, inviting way with him which had 
been known to succeed with the less sophisti- 
cated. 

“Did he row you?” he asked sympathetically. 

“Row me? No. Why should he?” 

“I really didn’t suppose ’e would; but you 
’ave been in London a long time.” 

“Couldn’t get the order delivered,” ex- 
plained Ixion, who suddenly found himself 
wondering why he took the trouble to explain 
at all. 

“No ’urry,” whispered George, looking ex- 
ceedingly knowing. “I wouldn’t ’urry, 
neither, not me,” and he leered in a way which 
was not becoming in a man of his years, and 
which robbed even his bald head of its last 
vestige of reverence. “Me and Miss Short be- 
lieve that they’re really on their ’oneymoon.” 

“Oh, do you?” said Ixion curtly. “An’ who 
the dooce is Miss Short, when she’s at home?” 

198 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“That’s ’er with the red ’air. She’s in the bar 
now. You ’aven’t seen ’er?” 

“Nor don’t want to,” said Smales. 

“Oh, she’s a bit out of your class,” replied 
George consolingly. “Brother a clergyman 
up in London; father a rural dean in Norfolk.” 

“What’s her blooming mother?” asked John 
sourly. 

“A angel,” said George. “She’s class. Red 
’air, too. No flies on red ’air. ’E’s a nice gent, 
though, your guvnor. I like ’im.” 

“Jolly kind of you.” 

“Mr. Carey Vermont,” continued the in- 
sinuating Ganymedes, “an’ Miss Carey Ver- 
mont. But she calls ’im Percyhus.” 

“Well, can’t she call him that if she likes?” 

“Ye-es. Come an ’ave a drain.” 

“No, thanks. I’m just off to the garage.” 

“ ’E calls ’er Dromedary,” continued the 
voice in the same sing-song, insinuating tone. 
“That’s a rum name, now.” 

“Very appropriate when you’re about.” 

“Why?” 

“It suggests the ’ump,” snapped Smales. 

But as he walked round to the garage his 
mind was full of strange conjectures. Miss 
199 


The Woman , the Man and the Monster 


Carey Vermont! To his knowledge there was 
no such person in existence. True, there might 
be, but if so it was strange that he had neither 
seen nor heard of her. Was this the reason of 
that sudden generosity which made light of 
delay, which found in so serious an accident a 
blessing in disguise? This thought brought a 
rush of other thoughts, of which the worthy 
Smales was not a little afraid. There was that 
strange meeting at Newland’s Comer to be 
accounted for, and the story of the wrecked 
bicycle. He remembered now that he had seen 
no trace of that wreckage. Also, his mind 
wandered to a slim, pale girl whom he more 
than half believed might one day consent to 
become Mrs. Carey Vermont. What would 
happen now? What had happened during his 
stay in London? 

Smales, being a highly respectable young 
man, resented strongly the imputations of 
George, the waiter. He liked neither the man- 
ner nor the tone of that hoary individual ; and 
as for the red-headed Miss Short, it seemed to 
him she would have been much better employed 
looking after her beer-taps than in talking 
scandal of her betters. It is true Mr. Vermont 
200 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


may not have been a saint, but hitherto he had 
conducted his little affairs with the most com- 
mendable punctiliousness. A gentleman can 
do no more. 

The next morning she accompanied Perseus 
on his visit to the garage. Smales had already 
been at work for something like three or four 
hours, and the job was rapidly approaching 
completion. 

“I think I shall be able to test her before 
lunch,” he said in answer to Vermont’s in- 
quiries. 

“And shall we be ready to go for a spin this 
afternoon?” Andromeda asked. 

“What do you say, John?” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

But John was looking up at her with his 
smutty face, and she smiled at the comicality 
of his appearance. If he saw the smile it oc- 
casioned him no concern, or at least not half 
so much as her surpassing daintiness. Again 
he thought of that slim, pale girl in London. 

Andromeda declared that Smales was the 
prince of chauffeurs. The red and gold beauty, 
her strength restored, carried them to all points 
of the compass. Highway and byway they 
201 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


explored in her, and Smales was never again 
guilty of slipping the clutch in too quickly. 
Careful where care was required, dashing when 
told to let her go, he proved himself an ideal 
driver, and valuable in many other ways. It’s 
true his great, round eyes were always full of 
wonder when he looked at Andromeda, but the 
nature of that wonder she was never able prop- 
erly to analyse. Nor did it concern her great- 
ly, and after a little while even Perseus thought 
less of the singularity of the situation. 

But the hotel began to pall on them both, 
and during one of their excursions in the neigh- 
bourhood of Frensham, in a quiet backwater 
of the world, as it seemed, deliverance present- 
ed itself in the shape of a thatched cottage, 
across the front of which the Virginia creeper 
was already beginning to redden. It stood 
back some hundred yards or so from the road, 
and was approached by a well-worn track 
through the grass. Behind it rose a small, 
thickly-wooded hill, and behind this again, 
though this they could not see at the moment, 
was a wild spread of common land, purple with 
heather. 

Andromeda called upon Smales to stop the 
202 


The W oman, the Man, and the Monster 


car, and she and Perseus, having alighted, 
walked slowly through the grass to the cottage. 

“The very place,” she whispered as she 
clung to his arm. “A month of this, Perseus, 
and ” 

“Well?” 

“I could be very happy here with you,” she 
said. 

“For a month?” 

“Well, we are not bound to stay on for ever. 
What ducky windows !” she cried. They were 
diamond-paned, leaded, and the tiny curtains 
were white as snow. Geraniums flourished in 
red pots on the window-sills, and in the wee 
front garden. 

In answer to his knock a grey-haired, rosy- 
cheeked, active-looking woman appeared, evi- 
dently not a little surprised to see such visitors. 
She looked past them to the red car by the 
roadside, which was softly humming, like a 
gorgeous summer fly. 

Perseus quickly introduced himself and his 
business. His wife and he were looking for a 
spot in which they could spend a quiet month. 
Was the cottage to be let? The old lady, who 
had shrewd eyes, hesitated. Then he asked her 
203 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


to name her terms. Rather nervously she sug- 
gested five pounds. He offered her ten. After 
that negotiations proceeded most equitably. 

To be sure, the place had its drawbacks, but 
Andromeda professed to be delighted. It was 
so sweet, so fresh, so quaint. Certain articles 
of furniture would have to be sent from Guild- 
ford; but when one makes up one’s mind to 
be pleased there are very few obstacles which 
cannot be overcome. For a further considera- 
tion the old lady agreed to cook and tidy up 
for them. 

Andromeda was enraptured. 

“We are going to live here, John,” she said 
as they returned to the car. 

“Indeed!” said he. 

What was to be the next piece of folly? 


204 


% 


IV 


For the next two days Smales was kept busy 
running between the cottage and Guildford 
with the articles of furniture which Andromeda 
deemed necessary for comfort. Then on the 
morning of the third day they packed up their 
baggage and left the hotel for good. George 
bustled with unwonted activity and was duly 
rewarded. Miss Short was most affable to Per- 
seus when he went to pay the bill. She had 
seen little of him, it is true, but that was not 
because she wished it. She expressed the hope 
that his stay in Guildford had been pleasant. 
He replied, unthinkingly, that it had been ex- 
tremely so, nor did he quite realise the nature 
of his answer until he saw the smile creep round 
her mouth. Really the ladies of Guildford 
were quite humorous, and sympathetic, no 
doubt, to the lonely wayfarer. 

“Now, John,” said he, when they were finally 
installed in the cottage, acting on a previous 
205 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


suggestion of Andromeda, “I am determined 
that you shall have that month’s holiday at 
last. Take the car over to Farnham and leave 
her there. You will bring her back this day 
month, unless you hear from me to the con- 
trary. For the rest, you don’t know where I 
am, and you don’t care.” 

^ “And what if I do, sir?” 

“Well, just tell yourself that it’s no concern 
of yours.” 

“I suppose it’s no good my speaking, sir?” 

“Not the least. I might possibly regard it 
as an impertinence. At the same time I don’t 
mind telling you, if it is likely to prove a salve 
to your conscience, that presently I intend to 
marry this lady; so you must understand once 
and for all that I shall tolerate no shadow of 
incivility, or suspicion of disrespect. If the 
terms do not clash with your conscience you 
may consider yourself as remaining in my em- 
ploy; if they do I have no wish to hold you 
against your will.” 

“It’s not that, sir, thanks for the confidence.” 

“Then the rest does not concern you, and 
I am afraid I cannot listen.” 

At that moment Andromeda called to him 
206 


The Woman , the Man t and the Monster 


through the open window, and Smales turned 
slowly away with a hanging head. He had not 
looked round for fear of meeting her mock- 
ing smile; for he, too, was human, and when 
his eyes met hers he felt his courage evaporate. 
Though apparently the best of friends, there 
was an antagonism between them of which they 
were both secretly aware, and her endeavours 
to placate him had met with but indifferent 
success. His imagination was not capable of 
rising to the heights of secrecy. The fiction of 
the cousin had long since departed from him, 
and the mystery was not an adequate substi- 
tute. He did not like mysteries which presaged 
trouble, and trouble he foresaw. 

In obedience to her call Perseus re-entered 
the cottage. Her sleeves were tucked up, for 
she had been working hard with Mrs. Selton, 
the rosy-cheeked landlady, and the exertion 
had brought a delightful flush to her face, a 
rare sparkle to her eyes. 

“You have got rid of him?” 

“Yes, he is going at once.” 

“I shall have you all to myself?” 

“All to yourself,” he laughed. 

“Then come and look at our home.” 

207 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


There were only three rooms in the cottage, 
sitting-room, bedroom and kitchen, but won- 
ders had been worked within the last hour, 
graceful feminine touches which even wrung 
unstinted praise from Mrs. Selton, who 
had hitherto regarded her habitation as beyond 
improvement. Perseus expressed the keenest 
delight with what he saw, and Andromeda 
chattered like a child with a new toy. She 
took him by the hand and led him from room 
to room. 

“Isn’t it a duck of a kitchen?” she cried. He 
thought it looked rather poverty-stricken, but 
did not say so. “I shall be able quite easily to 
boil the chocolate and the eggs for supper when 
the old lady has gone.” (It was agreed that 
Mrs. Selton, who had a married son in the ad- 
jacent village, should sleep at his house.) 
“Everything is so convenient, you see.” He 
did not see it, but no matter. “And isn’t it a 
quaint chimney?” 

Too quaint, he thought, for comfort, sug- 
gesting a plentiful supply of smoke in a south- 
west wind. 

“A bit chilly, this floor?” he suggested tim- 
208 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


idly. The floor was of baked clay worn smooth, 
and hard as marble. 

“Oh, I shall put down a mat,” she said. “Be- 
sides, this is summer. We shall be gone before 
the cold weather comes.” 

“Where, Andromeda?” 

“Goodness knows. But we have a month 
before us. I’m going to be happy — for a 
month.” 

They stood at the door of the bedroom and 
looked in. It was all white and fragrant, sweet 
with the odour of fresh-plucked flowers. She 
looked up at him, a look full of timid, wonder- 
ful joy. He caught her in his arms and kissed 
her fiercely. 

“Be my wife, Andromeda,” he whispered. 

“H’sch, stupid! What if she should hear 
you! I am your wife — the best kind of wife — 
one whom you can get rid of when you’re 
tired.” 

“But I don’t want to get rid of you, and I 
shall never tire.” 

“Be content.” 

“I cannot be content until I hold you 
legally.” 

“Do you expect to hold a woman in that 
209 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


way ? Isn’t it better to hold her like this ?” She 
put up her lips and kissed him. “Don’t be 
silly, there’s a good boy. We’re going to be 
very happy.” 

His arm was still about her as they entered 
the sitting-room. The landlady, who was kneel- 
ing before the fireplace, rose to greet them. 

“Just setting the fire, dearie,” she explained, 
“in case you should feel a bit chilly towards the 
evening. I know what ’usbands are,” she 
added with a sagacious wag of the head, “espe- 
cially after they’ve been out all day. My old 
man used to get that fidgety at nights that I 
never knew what to do with him.” 

“My old man never gets fidgety,” laughed 
Andromeda. 

“You’re lucky. ’Usbands as a rule are a 
sore, sad trial to us pore women.” 

“They are,” assented Andromeda; “but I 
know how to keep mine in a good humour.” 

“Well, if Selton were alive I’d ask you for 
the receipt, but it’s no good to me now, as ’e’s 
been dead these fifteen year. ’E was a terrible 
troublesome man.” 

“They all are,” laughed the young woman 
210 


The Woman the Man , and the Monster 


gaily. “We have just got to do the best we 
can with a bad bargain.” 

“All the same,” said the old lady seriously, 
“if you wouldn’t mind I should like to ’ave that 
receipt.” 

Andromeda laughed so heartily that Perseus 
could not refrain from joining in. 

“But don’t you know it?” 

“Should I be asking if I did?” 

“But you’re not thinking of doing it again?” 
she asked in an awed whisper. 

“Why not?” inquired the old lady somewhat 
sharply. 

“Why not indeed?” said Perseus gravely. 

“Of course, why not? But you should not 
want the receipt from me. I am only a be- 
ginner.” 

“I’ve known some beginners as could teach 
the oldsters a bit — what do ’ee say, sir?” 

“The inscrutable wisdom of Providence has 
endowed woman with a superabundance of 
strategy.” 

“What do ’ee mean by that?” 

“Merely that a man isn’t in it with a 
woman.” 

“I dunno. Selton was good enough in his 
211 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


way, though ’e wasn’t by no means perfect; 
but if I ever take on a second — an’ there’s more 
than one ’as ’is eyes on this bit o’ cottage — I’ll 
take care ’e don’t rim quite as free as Selton.” 

“It seems to me that I was right after all,” 
said Andromeda; “and if my husband takes to 
carrying on I shall certainly come to you for 
advice.” 

“You’ll ’old ’im right enough,” replied the 
old lady, “while you’ve got that pretty face. 
Men are like chickens: they know where to 
find the best seed.” 

Smales came to the door for his final in- 
structions, looking anything but delighted at 
the thought of his long holiday. As his eyes 
met those of Andromeda they hardened per- 
ceptibly, causing her to laugh softly to her- 
self. 

“John is jealous,” she murmured, and then 
laughed again. 

The instructions were but a brief repetition 
of what had gone before. Smales looked as 
though he would like to speak, as though he 
wished Vermont would speak. 

“I hope you’ll have a nice holiday, John,” 
said Andromeda. 


212 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Thank you, miss— the same to you.” 

She looked sharply round, but luckily no 
one was near. Persons frowned ominously. 
Smales’s weak mouth grew obstinate. 

“That will do,” said Vermont coldly. “You 
may go now.” 

Smales saluted and walked slowly back to 
the car. From the gate they watched him 
mount it and drive away. 

“Did you hear that?” she asked sharply. 

“It was a slip — a mistake.” 

“Oh, no, it wasn’t. If you are going to let 

your servants insult me ” She turned aside, 

head up, chin out. Quickly he caught her by 
the hand. 

“He would not dare! It was his stupidity.” 

“I suppose I ought not to be ready to take 
offence. What can I expect?” 

Her mouth was quivering, her eyes flashing, 
her body stiff, unyielding. For the first time 
he saw that in her eyes which did not please 
him. 

“You are wrong, my dear,” he said soothing- 
ly; “the fellow is merely a dunderhead.” 

“Not such a dunderhead as you imagine. I 
knew I should hate him, and I do.” 

213 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


She turned sharply and re-entered the cot- 
tage. He did not call her back, some intuitive 
knowledge warning him that it would be wiser 
to leave her alone. But he walked slowly to 
the gate, leaning upon which he stared thought- 
fully out across the road. 

It was the first little cloud and his face 
grew troubled. 


214 


V 


But she was not the one to brood over 
wrongs, real or imaginary. That fortitude 
which had carried her through so much was not 
likely to give way in the face of trivialities. 
Presently she called him to admire her rear- 
rangements of their household gods, and her 
eyes were full of sweet repentance. 

“I felt it,” she confessed humbly, “but I feel 
it no more. Do you forgive me?” 

“My dear, I am only sorry that his inad- 
vertence should have caused you the least con- 
cern.” 

She pressed her hand to his mouth. He 
kissed it tenderly. 

“There, there, say no more about it. What 
do you think of our new home? We are going 
to be very happy, Perseus.” 

“Very happy.” 

Summer most glorious continued to hold un- 
disputed sway over the land. It was a wonder- 
215 


The W Oman , the Man , and the Monster 


ful season, the kind of season that makes Eng- 
land the flower garden of the world. Nature 
showered her blessings with unexampled prodi- 
gality: no suspicion of a shadow came to cloud 
the clear way of existence. There were near 
at hand a hundred pleasant places; each day 
they discovered some fresh surprise. The world 
and all that belonged to it seemed so far away 
that they never even caught the echo of its 
roaring. It was as though they had moored 
their boat in a forgotten backwater of life, and 
the great stream of the world rolled on as 
oblivious of them as they of it. 

Andromeda had made up her mind to be 
happy, and to ensure that happiness she let 
no opportunity escape. Day after day she 
planned little excursions in the woods, or 
among the heathlands. Sometimes they took 
their luncheon with them and lay for hours in 
the sunshine among the sweet-smelling clover, 
the bees humming soft music to the flowers. 
Sometimes they penetrated into undiscovered 
places and took tea in quaint, old-fashioned 
inns with sanded floors. Mentally or physical- 
ly she never seemed to tire. Of all women in 
the world she was to him the most wonderful. 

216 


The TV oman , the Man , and the Monster 


The variety of her seemed inexhaustible. Her 
moods were as variable as the light clouds 
which cross a blue sky, yet like the sky itself 
she was steadfast behind it all. 

The world was all theirs. Rarely were those 
journey ings interrupted by the advent of 
strangers. Sometimes a wanderer espied the 
lovers and passed on; occasionally in the dis- 
tance they traced the dusty course of a flying 
motor. Hour after hour she would lie in his 
arms on the slope of some green hill, or amid 
the thick sweet-smelling grasses, unseen ex- 
cept by the sun, unheeded except by the wind. 
And her eyes told him always the same sweet 
tale, and her lips were sweeter than clover. 
She seemed insatiable of love. The tale ten 
times told lost nothing in the retelling; ten 
times again was it retold and listened to as 
eagerly. 

“Keep on telling me,” she would say, “and 
never cease your kissings. I think all the joy 
and wisdom of the world is on your lips. And 
hold me close, so close that I can scarcely 
breathe. It is madness to feel you almost press 
the life out of me. I should like to die thus, 
your arms about me, your lips to mine, your 
217 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


eyes telling me the secret of your soul. I am 
jealous of your hands when they are not touch- 
ing me; I am jealous almost of the wind that 
comes between us. How did I ever live be- 
fore I met you? But did I? What beautiful 
eyes you have, Perseus. Don’t drink, or dis- 
sipate, or do anything to spoil them. And you 
have been kind to women — kinder than they 
are to themselves. Poor women, they do make 
a dreadful hash of things. But we have only 
ourselves and our love, and when we give that 
we give all.” 

“You do not regret?” 

“I — no! What have I to regret? I read 
life in my own way, dear Perseus, not as others 
would have me read it, and if it brings happi- 
ness to me how have I misread?” 

“And you are happy?” 

“Can you doubt it?” 

“Yet I confess with shame that there are 
times when the Philistine will not be denied.” 

“Then deny him, starve him, let him die of 
thirst. Or worse still, deny him those joys 
which, witnessed in others, turn him green 
with envy. Your Philistine is still a man, Per- 
seus dear, and the man must conquer. But 
218 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


we, we are the children of an older day, or a 
day that is not yet born. Frankly I glory in 
your beauty as you in mine. You are so strong, 
my Perseus; you could kill me with one of those 
big hands of yours, and yet your touch thrills 
me most exquisitely.” 

“You are exquisite,” he said, burying his face 
in her neck. She laughed lightly as she played 
with his hair. 

“I think we are both mad, yet what a de- 
licious madness! I would not change it for all 
the cold calculating sanity of the world.” 

“Nor I,” he whispered as he kissed her dainty 
ear. “I love you, Andromeda.” 

She flung her arms around his neck and 
pressed his face close in against her breast. 

“Can you hear my heart beating?” she asked. 

Almost it seemed to him that it beat articu- 
lately, like the faint low mystic music that one 
hears in a dream. 

“Every beat is for you,” she murmured, 
“every nerve, every pulse throbs only in the 
exquisite joy that you create. When I close 
my eyes I seem to float away into a world of 
sweet sounds and pleasant, indistinct images. 
I am taken up and carried through the air, 
219 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


and the sound of rushing winds charms me al- 
most to insensibility.” She slipped from his 
arms and buried her face deep in the grass. 
“What magic is in this good, brown earth,” she 
whispered, “that makes all things grow, even 
love? The smell of it is like a delicious in- 
toxicant. What wonder that all things flourish 
on its bosom nourished by so fond a lover! I 
understand now why the ancients called it 
Mother. It is the mother breast that nourishes 
all.” 

She lay flat along the earth, and extending 
her arms seemed to gather it in a close embrace. 
He stooped over her, and where her white neck 
showed below the hair he pressed his lips. She 
partly turned, and pulling the long grass over 
her eyes looked at him through green lashes. 

“Kiss me, Perseus. Did I not tell you that 
I had the making of a great lover ? I too might 
have been of them in other times. I live in 
them, through them, realise each tiny heart beat, 
feel each great throb of the soul. Oh, my 
Mother, how sweet you are!” And again she 
buried her face close in against the earth, and 
he saw her lips move in exhortation or prayer. 

220 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


“But not so sweet as you, her daughter,” he 
whispered. 

“Yes, I am a daughter of Earth,” she said, 
“loved of her, loving her, nourished at her 
breast, into which I shall presently sink to 
sleep. It will be a long sleep, Perseus, but she 
is beautiful and gracious, and will be kind. 
. . . How warm the sun is, how de- 

liciously warm ! It seems to lave my limbs, to 
permeate me, as it were, and draw the sweet- 
ness out of the earth beneath. I wonder why 
lying in the grass makes one feel so affection- 
ate? . . . To-day clothes seem a hideous 

outrage on nature. One should be naked to 
the sun and the wind and the soft caresses of 
the clover. ... I love to lie like this, out 
in the open. It seems to take one back to the 
beginning of things, the days that knew not 
the sin and the shame of living. Oh, yes, I’m 
a pagan, a frank, unregenerate pagan. When 
I was a child I used to run barefooted. Have 
you ever run barefooted, Perseus?” 

“Never — except by the sea.” 

“Ah, but that’s convention again. Shall we?” 
She looked up at him, a daring challenge in her 
eyes. 


221 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


“Why not?” 

Quick as thought she set to work, and in a 
twinkling her feet were bare. 

“What lovely little feet you have, Androm- 
eda.” 

Deep into the clover she buried her pink toes. 

“It’s so soft and cool,” she said. “I wonder 
why we are forced to wear shoes and stock- 
ings?” He suggested convenience for one 
thing; then there were climatic conditions which 
did not favour the idea. “Oh, Perseus,” she 
moaned, “you will ruin everything.” 

“If I only had feet like yours,” he said, “I 
might be tempted.” 

She drew them up under her skirt, her mouth 
pouting prettily. 

“If you are going to make such remarks I 
shall put on my shoes again.” 

“Please don’t,” he protested. “They are 
so pretty.” 

Gradually they stole out again from beneath 
the hem of the skirt, and quick as thought he 
seized them, stooped down and kissed them. 

Just then a lark rose somewhere from amid 
the neighbouring heather, and circling upward 
poured forth a ringing peal of joyousness. 

222 


The Woman , the M an, and the Monster 


They both watched it intently until it was 
swallowed up in the infinite. Then she looked 
at him and her eyes softened, shining bright 
with a sudden emotion. Tie drew her to him 
and kissed her silently, passionately. 

“Yes,” she said, “but it must all end some 
time.” 

“All things must end some time.” 

“But this quicker than others.” 

“Why should it?” 

“Because it is not good that mortals should 
be too happy.” 

“Infamous doctrine of fanatic pietism!” 

“I believe there are those who still wear hair 
shirts and otherwise mortify the flesh. That 
is Christianity in its maddest and most sickly 
aspect. The old pagans adored it. Who were 
the wiser? But perhaps they hadn’t souls to 
save. I wonder?” 

He did not answer, for it suddenly came to 
him that something might even be said for the 
rigid Christian, though on the whole he would 
rather not enter into that profitless discussion. 
In many ways he was a child of his generation, 
one of the many who come from the public 
schools and universities, trained to a nicety, no 
223 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


doubt, yet brought into line with the regularity 
of garden produce. A woman was needed to 
work the revolution — she always is — and he 
found in her what Adam found in his partner 
Eve. Odd, too, that the greater moral strength 
should be found in the weaker vessel! Woman 
is at heart the true revolutionary. Even the 
shrine of fashion must be newly decked every 
season or she will no longer worship at it. 

She swung off again with her usual inconse- 
quence. 

“Strange how little one can really learn from 
books, though they embrace the wisdom of the 
ages. I used to read a lot once — heavy stuff, 
too! Yet Mrs. Selton knows as much of the 
future as the wisest of them. I suppose it all 
depends on the peculiar intellectual attitude. 
Of course one body of men have merely to 
support a proposition for another body of men, 
equally as wise, no doubt, to rise up and destroy 
it. But surely there is finality somewhere, a 
truth that, like the diamond in the earth, is 
waiting to be discovered? We talk of the in- 
finite, but do we quite grasp what it means?” 
She looked up at him with smiling lips. “How 
224 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


I chatter, to be sure, and I have not even yet 
grasped the mysteries of the Trinity.” 

“Who are you, Andromeda?” he said. There 
was much solid perturbation in his eyes. 

“Who am I? Just a blundering mortal who 
cannot see ahead, one who at times goes down 
on her hands and knees to grope.” 

“I must know more of you,” he insisted dog- 
gedly; “I must have all your confidence. The 
time has passed for make-believe. At times you 
almost seem like a phantom lover. You have 
grown too dear for even a doubt to linger be- 
tween us. I must know who and what you 

„ >5 

are. 

“If that would profit you I should not hesi- 
tate. Be content. You have made life very 
sweet to me, brought out my better nature. 
That seems rather strange, doesn’t it?” and the 
mocking mouth curled curiously; “yet it is per- 
fectly true. I dread to dispel the charm. Per- 
haps you think it strange that I should dread 
anything.” He protested vigorously. “No, 
no. I know how good you are. Frankly, I 
never expected to meet with such delicacy. Let 
us be happy together a little while longer. 
Presently you shall know all.” 

225 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Do you mean that my knowing all will 
destroy that happiness?” 

“Who can say? Do you know, in spite of 
all I think you are only half a pagan. Why, 
even I myself can be puritanical at times. It’s 
in us, in our island blood, whether we like it 
or not. It is that which makes us so different 
from the rest of Europe. Not understanding 
they call us hypocrites. At any rate, we two 
can free ourselves of that charge.” 

But there was a plaintiveness in her whimsi- 
cality which did not escape him, a suggestion 
as of something deeper behind the sunniness of 
her smile. Occasionally, when she forgot his 
presence, he caught that look intensified, and 
it caused him no inconsiderable alarm. Guess- 
ing only what she was and had been, conjecture 
at times played him fantastic tricks. Though 
obsessed, as it were, by love of her, that obses- 
sion still had its limits — as must always be the 
case with a man — and at varied intervals much 
serious thought would not be denied. Much as 
he credited woman with the resources of im- 
agination, also he knew that her pretence was 
not boundless; and when he caught sudden 
226 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


glimpses of that plaintive expression he feared 
that memory was at work. 

Who was she, what was she? Was she much 
wronged or much wronging — a woman to be 
cherished or spurned? To him she was a de- 
lightful enigma, a phantasm almost, a dream 
come true. Perhaps not so much of a riddle 
as he liked to think; yet one, the solution of 
which he almost dreaded even while he strove 
to know it. 


227 


BOOK III 


ATROPOS 

VI 

There was a rough, winding pathway at 
the back of the cottage hy which they could 
enter without going round to the front door, 
and this they almost invariably used when set- 
ting out or returning from their little journey- 
ings. 

One day, a fortnight after they had been 
installed at the cottage, Vermont, returning 
alone, having left Andromeda sleeping amid 
the clover in the sunshine, was surprised to see 
Mrs. Selton standing in the doorway beckoning 
violently to him. Approaching closer he saw 
that the poor lady was in a state of much agita- 
tion. Her lips were moving rapidly, but appar- 
ently inarticulately, and much of her rosiness 
had flown. 


228 


The TV oman, the Man, and the Monster 


“What is it?” he asked, coming up; “what 
has happened?” 

“Something dreadful, sir; awful motor ac- 
cident. The poor gentleman is inside.” 

Not waiting to hear more he rushed into the 
little sitting-room and beheld a man lying on 
the couch. Over him hung a person in the 
dress of a chauffeur, while a third person, an 
unmistakable farm hand, gazed with some con- 
cern from his position near the window. At 
Vermont’s entrance the chauffeur looked 
round. 

“What has happened?” 

“Collision,” said the man. 

“Is he much hurt?” 

“I hope not, sir.” 

“No, I’m not hurt,” cried a voice from the 
sofa, a voice full of peevishness and irritability. 
“It was your damned stupidity, or the stupid- 
ity of that thick-headed yokel, I don’t know 
which.” 

The yokel maintained an attitude of supreme 
impassivity, but the chauffeur flushed. 

“I don’t think it was my fault, Sir Digby.” 

“What does it matter whose fault it was? 

229 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


I might have broken my damned neck. What’s 
happened to the car?” 

“Rather badly damaged, sir.” 

“Pitched me clean out, didn’t it? The fool 
was right across the road?” 

“Yes, Sir Digby.” 

“Umph! Well, where’s the master of this 
delectable mansion?” 

Vermont advanced. 

“How de do, Brenton?” 

The man looked up, a puzzled expression 
on his face. He was not old nor was he young, 
but his face, which was heavy and square like 
a bulldog’s, bore on it unmistakable traces of 
evil living. The eyes, of a pale, cold blue, 
were narrow and clotted with veins. 

“Who are you?” he asked. 

“Don’t you remember me — Vermont?” 

“Vermont — Vermont!” He seemed to roll 
the name round his memory as he did about 
his tongue. “Not Carey Vermont?” 

“The same.” 

“Why, it’s years since we saw each other!” 

“Years. But how are you getting on? Are 
you sure you’re not hurt?” 

“Quite. 'Just a shaking. I shall be all right 
230 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


presently. Have you any whisky and soda in 
the house?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then like a good fellow, Vermont — if you 
love me.” 

Vermont was not sure that he loved him; 
nevertheless he bustled to prepare the drink, 
muttering to himself: “Brenton — Digby 
Brenton. Good Lord!” They had been at 
school together, these two; as a matter of fact, 
Vermont had fagged for him at Eton, and still 
remembered sundry spontaneous bootings. It 
had always been a blow first with Brenton. 
“Mad Brenton” he was called as a boy, and 
the appellation stuck to him through life. If 
rumour were to be credited he had done his best 
to sustain his early reputation. 

He drank the whisky and soda with much 
relish, seeming to gain strength thereby. Then 
he looked round the room with a quizzing smile. 

“Is this your crib?” 

“For the time being.” 

“What a God-forsaken spot! But if I re- 
member you always cultivated solitude and the 
muses. Still at it?” 


231 


The Woman the Man, and the Monster 


“The muses and I have long since parted 
company.” 

He smiled, and again his glance wandered 
round the room, resting curiously on the new- 
ly cut flowers and some of Andromeda’s knick- 
knacks. 

“Looks like a woman. Have you one here? 
But of course you have. No man could stick 
to this without a woman.” 

“My wife is here with me.” 

“Congratulations.” But the remark was 
singularly devoid of enthusiasm. Then he ad- 
dressed the chauffeur. “Get the wreckage 
away and make the best you can of it. I sup- 
pose there is civilisation somewhere near this 
wilderness?” He was addressing the yokel 
now, who stared back at him with wide, unin- 
tellectual eyes. “I suppose one can get a fly, 
or something of that sort?” 

“Yes, sur,” said the man. 

“And look you, my friend, you mustn’t 
think that though you live in the neighbour- 
hood the road belongs to you. You’ve smashed 
my car and damned near killed me. What do 
you think of that?” 

“It was you,” replied the man sourly, “in 
232 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


that stink-pot of yours. You come round the 
bend like a flash of lightning. I couldn’t es- 
cape ’ee nohow. An’ maybe as that ’oss of 
mine won’t be fit for work no more.” 

Brenton waved an impatient hand. 

“Take the fellow away, Smithers, and hear 
what he has to say. Curse him for a blunder- 
ing dolt. He tires me with his vacant stare.” 

He lay back and closed his eyes. Smithers, 
who seemed thoroughly to understand his mas- 
ter, flung a conciliatory look towards the yokel, 
touched him lightly on the arm, and together 
they quitted the room. 

“Sorry to hear of the spill,” said Vermont 
perfunctorily. “Hope the car is not much 
damaged?” 

“My dear fellow,” replied the other, “for 
weeks now I’ve been trying to break my neck, 
but the devil seems to look after his own. What 
has quite happened to the car I don’t know. 
It was like a flash. We came whizzing round 
the corner and struck that fool, who was in 
the middle of the road. I remember flying like 
a rocket through the air, and then I woke up 
here in this crib of yours. Smithers takes cor- 
nel’s rather recklessly. Drives well, though, 
233 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


and understands me. Hope I’m not putting 
you to any inconvenience?” 

“My dear fellow!” 

“Curious, too, that I should meet you like 
this. What have you been doing with yourself 
all this time, besides getting married?” 

“Not much, I fear.” 

“Few of us seem to do much. I’ve made a 
beastly mess of it all round.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

Not that he was really sorry. As a matter 
of fact he was totally indifferent. More than 
once rumours of Brenton’s mad doings had 
reached him. Had the news come of his hang- 
ing he would not have been surprised. The only 
surprising thing was that his doings had not 
reached a more definite stage than rumour. 
Bom to a title which, if not distinguished by 
any action that the world could justly applaud, 
was yet not wholly unknown, and wealth which 
permitted him to gratify every whim, Digby 
Brenton had made no attempt to seize his un- 
merited opportunities. From boyhood upward 
the way had been made easy for him; fortune 
smiled so persistently that he had come to re- 
gard her smiles as his especial prerogative. 

234 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


That all things in this world were not ordered 
just as he would have them was one of those 
petty annoyances with which the great are not 
infrequently confronted. Yet notwithstand- 
ing these drawbacks he managed to go through 
the world with a high chin. 

From a reclining posture he now sat up in 
one corner of the sofa and let his eyes wander 
slowly round the room. Vermont watched him 
closely. He remembered that dictatorial, over- 
bearing manner, the harsh voice which was not 
slow to pour contempt on those with whom he 
disagreed. Brenton had never been lovable 
even as a boy, and the man betrayed no increase 
of the gentler qualities. The manner, even in 
repose, was as uncompromising as ever, the 
pronounced jaw and penetrating glance being 
ever on the aggressive. 

“That whisky is good,” he said; “it has put 
new life into me.” 

“Have another?” 

“Thanks.” 

A second libation had a still more surprising 
effect. The colour, a swarthy red, came back 
to his face; his eyes shone with a keener in- 
telligence, and he began to curl the ends of 
235 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


his thick, dark moustache. As he did so he 
incidentally showed the mouth beneath, and 
Vermont saw that it was the heavy mouth of a 
sensualist, the teeth being strong and large. 
A hundred vague reminiscences crowded in 
upon him; he saw that the boy had grown into 
the man he might have expected. 

“By George!” he was saying, “this is a rum 
go — meeting you in this fashion. I think I have 
passed this cottage quite a dozen times within 
the last month. Have you been here long?” 

“A couple of weeks.” 

“And you are staying?” 

“Just the month. My wife fancied it for a 
change.” 

“She’s young, I suppose?” 

“Yes.” 

“Wouldn’t come here if she wasn’t. Ro- 
mantic, I suppose?” and a smile which was 
like a sneer passed over his face. “They’re 
all romantic when they’re young — that, and 
other things. Chiefly the other things. Let 
me congratulate you. No idea you were mar- 
ried; but then I’ve been out of England for a 
long time, wandering through Europe and 
Asia. You know I was always a restless sort 
236 


The W oman „ the Man , and the Monster 


of devil. A bit wild, eh?” Vermont nodded. 
“ ‘Mad Brenton’ it was in the old days.” He 
smiled. “Oh, I know. Madder Brenton it 
ought to be now. But what can one expect 
whose grandfather died a raving lunatic? You 
didn’t know that, Vermont? Didn’t you fag 
for me at Eton?” 

“Yes.” 

“Was I very hot?” 

“I’ve forgotten.” 

He smiled, but this time as if memory 
awakened that smile. 

“And so you’re married?” 

“Is there anything surprising in that?” 

“None at all, my dear fellow. Men will do 
these things. But where is madam? Am I to 
be permitted the honour of a presentation?” 

“She may return at any moment.” Indeed, 
he was then much concerned as to Andromeda. 
If she were to wake what would she think of 
his prolonged absence? “But you, are you 
also married?” 

He did not know why he asked the question, 
for he was not in the least interested. Perhaps 
it was by way of making conversation, or turn- 
ing the talk from Andromeda. The result, 
£37 


The TV oman, the Man, and the Monster 


however, was infinitely more surprising than he 
had anticipated. Brenton suddenly jerked 
himself to an upright position and positively 
glowered upon his questioner. 

“You did not know?” 

“My dear fellow, I have seen nothing of 
you for years.” 

He did not think it necessary to recall cer- 
tain rumours. An unreasoning fit of obstinacy 
would not let him show Brenton that he was 
of sufficient importance to be talked about. 
For of a sudden an inexplicable spirit of an- 
tagonism had risen against this man. He re- 
sented his abrupt, domineering manner, that 
aggressive thrust of the heavy jaw, the amused 
superior smile which the eye reflected in a none 
too conciliatory light. It had been thus in 
their young days. Brenton had ridden rough- 
shod over his fellows then, and evidently he 
had continued in the ways of his youth. Even 
now there was a lingering condescension of 
manner which seemed innate to the man. 

“Oh, yes, I’m married,” he said, controlling 
himself with an effort. “I thought perhaps you 
knew.” 

“No.” 


238 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


Vermont showed how little interested he was 
in the matter by turning to the open window 
and gazing out across the roadway. In the bend 
behind the bushes he could hear the voices of 
men and the stamping of a horse, and doubted 
not that it was there the wrecked car lay. Cu- 
rious the part that motor cars seemed latterly 
to be playing in his life. 

“You have found the experiment success- 
ful?” 

The voice came to him like a low lingering 
sneer and took him completely by surprise. 
Fortunately his face was turned away or the 
other might have marked the sudden start, the 
quick confusion. 

“Quite.” 

“You’re lucky. I suppose you married for 
love?” 

“I cannot imagine a man marrying for any 
other reason.” 

“Nor I; that’s the trouble. Men are such 
infernal fools. A woman can always play 
tricks with a man in love. They’re a crafty 
tribe, Vermont; clever as Satan, deep as hell.” 

“So I have heard.” 

“But you haven’t found ’em out yet?” 

239 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Some of us have better luck than others.” 

“Do we? I’ve never seen it yet.” 

“Then you have not been lucky? That’s 
strange. All things used to go your way 
once.” 

“Oh, I’ve been lucky enough; and as for 
things going my way — I made ’em, that’s the 
reason. You know, one can force destiny. The 
only thing is to know when to stop.” 

“Which no man ever did.” 

“One may stop too soon as well as too late.” 

“Yet if you have been able to force destiny 
you surely have little cause of complaint?” 

He looked Vermont up and down with a 
curiously penetrating glance. 

“My dear fellow, there is a certain smug- 
ness about you which betrays the philistine ease 
of conscience. I can foresee a large family and 
a fat wife, and church at least once on Sun- 
days. Now, for me there is none of these joys, 
and curiously enough I should like to try them. 
As long as I could remember I have been more 
or less in hell, and at times I have found the 
company inexpressibly dull. Also, curiously 
enough, it is chiefly habitated by women. As 
you are doubtless aware, all the great lovers 
240 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


are in hell ; it’s the only place for them. Great 
lovers! Pah!” 

Startling was the glance that Vermont sud- 
denly flung on him. In spite of himself a cold 
tremour swept him from head to foot. 

The other continued: 

“When are we going to assert our suprem- 
acy and put woman back in her proper place? 
Instead of commanding her, as our wild fore- 
fathers did, we buy her smiles with the last 
little shred of honour and self-respect. We 
have pickled a rod for our own backs, nour- 
ished a scorpion whose only gratitude is to 
sting. When I think of the fools they make 
of us, husbands and lovers! A man cannot 
even swear that the children he claims are 
his own. Do what you will for them, make 
any sacrifice you like, your reward will be the 
same, disdain, ingratitude and contempt.” 

He rose from the sofa and began furiously 
to pace the room. His face grew hot and 
angry, his eyes almost ferocious in their burn- 
ing penetration. Vermont looked at him in 
amazement. Always eccentric, he had no doubt 
whatever that Brenton’s eccentricity verged 
near to madness. Surely no one could conduct 
241 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


himself so unreasonably. That he had suffered 
through women was probably his own fault. 
Vermont had no interest in him or his suf- 
ferings. One thing was certain : the world was 
not going to stand still even for a greater 
than Sir Digby Brenton. Nature herself must 
ultimately resent the sway of the despot even if 
she calls in death as a last resource. 

“Isn’t the condemnation somewhat sweep- 
ing?” 

“I beg your pardon. Of course your case 
is exceptional.” He strode to the window and 
looked out. “Why the devil doesn’t that fool 
come with the cab! Are we far from civilisa- 
tion?” 

“Perhaps nearer than you think.” 

But the retort was lost on him. He was so 
obviously full of himself and his own thoughts 
that he had no room for the consideration of 
others. It was always thus with him. If the 
world did not stand still for his especial benefit 
it was not because it ought not, but because 
of some perverse influence which always seemed 
to thwart him. 

Vermont prayed fervently for the arrival of 
that cab. He dreaded to think that Androm- 
242 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


eda might return at any moment and be 
forced to meet this unpleasant person. In- 
wardly he fumed at the misfortune which laid 
this accident at his door. He had neither in- 
clination nor interest enough to rebut the man’s 
wild tirades; they were in keeping with what 
he knew of him, what he had heard. And in 
a way his own hands were tied. What even 
if he should have met her? Truly no one could 
know less of her than he did. And inside of 
it all, as it were, was a thought which almost 
amounted to a fear. 

Slowly the time dragged onward, his un- 
welcome guest now falling into a fit of moody 
abstraction, and now dilating in a vein which 
sorely plagued his listener. His theme was 
ever the inconstancy and ingratitude of wom- 
an, against whom he seemed to bear a bitter 
resentment, a resentment so little in accord 
with Vermont’s own feelings that he grew in- 
tolerably weary of the infliction. Yet the man, 
lost in the consciousness of his own wrongs, 
real or imaginary, paid no heed to the utter 
boredom, fast merging upon irritability, of his 
host. That the world could possibly have any 
other grievance than that which animated him 
243 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


to such excessive outbursts of vituperation 
never seemed to cross his mind. My trouble is 
the woi’ld’s; what else matters? 

But at length, when hope was almost gone, 
the fly did make its appearance, and to his 
host’s immeasurable relief the unwelcome visi- 
tor began his hurried adieux. He muttered 
something about being glad to see him, hoped 
they would meet again soon, and the like, and 
turned with extended hand when Andromeda’s 
voice was heard calling: “Perseus! Perseus!” 

Brenton shot bolt upright as though he had 
received a sudden shock, the extended hand fell 
with a thud to his side, and a wild, questioning 
look sprang to his eyes. 

“Who is that?” he asked, his voice vibrating 
strangely. 

“My wife.” 

“I should like to make her acquaintance.” 

Vermont did not attempt to hide his annoy- 
ance. He would have spared Andromeda this 
as he sought to spare her all unpleasantness, 
but he was no longer able to control the situa- 
tion. Still crying “Perseus! Perseus!” she 
entered the room. 


244 


VII 


At first, not noticing the presence of a third 
person, for at the rapid swish of her skirts 
Brenton had drawn back, she began somewhat 
imperiously to question him on his absence. He 
turned with a shrug towards his visitor, and 
her eyes, following his, suddenly dilated with 
horror. She staggered back as though about 
to faint, an action which wrung from him a 
cry of alarm and a quick movement. But Bren- 
ton was there before him. Springing forward 
he caught her roughly by the wrist and drew 
her savagely towards him. 

“So, I’ve found you at last!” 

The touch and the words awoke her. With 
an effort she straightened herself and looked 
him in the eyes; but the words failed to come, 
though the lips trembled with the attempt. 
Vermont regarded her with amazement, though 
almost instantly the truth flashed upon him. 

“It’s been a long chase, Irene,” Brenton was 
245 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


saying in a voice of suppressed passion, “but 
you knew me better than to think I would 
abandon it.” 

“I wish God had struck you dead,” she cried 
vehemently. 

“No doubt; but you see He hasn’t. Part of 
that inscrutability, I imagine, which has puz- 
zled the sages of all time. Y ou look extremely 
well, though. Things have been going smooth- 
ly here with our friend Vermont?” He turned 
with a bitter smile as he addressed his host: 
“This, I presume, is the wife of which you 
spoke? Curious, that, because she is also my 
wife.” 

The man was now apparently more cool and 
composed than he had been during the whole 
of the interview, and Carey Vermont turned 
to him with a look in which alarm and amaze- 
ment were expressed in unmistakable terms. 

“Your wife?” he repeated incredulously. 

“I sustain that honour with much difficulty.” 

“Andromeda!” He turned appealingly to 
her. 

“God help me,” she answered bitterly. 

“He seems to have helped you in strict ac- 
cordance with your many merits,” sneered 
246 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


Brenton. “But why ‘Andromeda?’ I don’t 
seem to know the name — at least in this connec- 
tion. Ah, yes, she called you Perseus. Quite 
charming. She was always quaintly im- 
aginative.” 

As one who had no doubt of his rights he 
. assumed a tone of superiority. Andromeda re- 
garded him as a bird might the fascination of 
a serpent. There were fear and terror in her 
gaze; also an unspeakable loathing. Vermont 
glanced uneasily from one to the other, his mind 
throbbing with swift conjecture. Of the many 
things he had imagined in connection with her, 
this one thing had never come within the range 
of probability. Digby Brenton’s wife— Mad 
Brenton! Did this explain all that had gone 
before? 

Brenton, speaking, recalled his wandering 
faculties. 

“You seem surprised,” he was saying in a 
j low, harsh tone. “You did not know that this 
i lady was my wife?” 

“No.” 

“But now that you are made aware of that 
surprising fact?” 

“I still think that by your brutality you have 
247 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


forfeited all claim to this lady’s consideration. 
For the rest, the remedy is in your own hands.” 

“Being aware of that fact I shall not need 
you to dictate my course of action. That "s 
one of the things I do in my own way, Mr. 
Vermont, and presently I shall have some- 
thing to say to you on that head. There is a 
cab at the door, Irene. Are you ready?” 

“I will go no more with you,” she said de- 
terminedly. “There is a limit even to the bear- 
ing of brutality, and I have reached it. My 
fate is here with the man I love.” 

With a gesture of defiance and contempt 
she held out her hand, which Perseus took and 
pressed fervently. 

“Ah, yes,” he sneered, “you were always a 
generous lover, always ready to sacrifice your- 
self on the altar of affection — for anyone who 
had no legal claim to it. But I cannot permit 
that unparalleled generosity of yours to be- 
tray you into further unnecessary sacrifices. 
The loss of affection does not necessarily imply 
the absence of obligation. I must endeavour 
to save you even in spite of yourself.” 

“Hypocrite and liar,” she said fiercely, all 
the terror of him seeming to have flown in the ' 
248 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


face of her great anger, “when did you even 
consider or spare anyone who might minister 
to your brutal instincts? I hate you, loathe 
you, despise you, and would sooner die than 
live for a moment under the same roof with 
you. This is my secret, Perseus — this is the 
horror I have kept from you. This man has 
made my life a hell. He is not a man, but a 
monster, a filthy, unclean creature for whom 
there is no word but hatred, no thought but 
detestation.” 

She stopped, panting. A cold smile like 
the cracking of ice broke over Brenton’s face. 
But his heavy nether lip twitched ominously, 
and the gleam in his eye was coldly cruel. 

“Spare these impassioned heroics,” he re- 
plied in a low, hard, grating voice. “I repeat, 
the cab is at the door. You seem to forget 
that you are my wife.” 

“No, no, Perseus, don’t let him touch me,” 
she screamed, clinging excitedly to Vermont’s 
arm. “The man is a monster, and I will not 
go with him.” 

Carey Vermont drew her aside, interposing 
himself between her and her husband. Bren- 
ton’s face flushed darkly, his hands opening 
249 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


and shutting with strong convulsive action. 
With an effort, however, he restrained himself, 
though it was easy to see his fury bubbling 
beneath the surface. 

“Unhappily,” he began with cold, forced 
indifference, “I was mad enough to marry this 
woman, and I am still quixotic enough to be- 
lieve that marriage has its obligations. But 
believe me, it is not love of her which makes 
me so insistent, but rather thought of my own 
good name.” 

“Your good name!” she cried. 

“For which you appear to have so little con- 
sideration.” 

“The remedy is in your hands,” said Ver- 
mont once again. 

“I am well aware of that fact, and shall act 
upon it in my own time, and in my own way. 
But the situation is an extremely delicate one, 
the circumstances quite unique. In branding 
this woman as infamous how shall I avoid my 
own discredit? You see, in dealing with her 
we are not dealing with the average normal 
woman, who, whatever her instincts may be, 
has decency enough to hide them; but rather 
with one of those abnormal creatures who glory 
250 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


in unrestraint. There are men of her type, 
and they end either in prison or a madhouse.” 

“Where you would be now but for your 
money,” she said. 

“It is inevitable that some of us should be 
cursed by destiny,” he continued, totally ignor- 
ing her remark. “When I married this woman 
two years ago, in Rome, I had just returned 
from an extended wandering in Asia, and I 
frankly confess she fascinated me. She was a 
public singer in Rome, of some local reputa- 
tion, I believe. Of the singularity of that 
reputation I knew nothing then, though I have 
learnt much since. It was, unfortunately, too 
late to retrieve the error, but not too late to 
attempt the guardianship of my own honour. 
Perhaps you are able fully to appreciate the 
result of that guardianship?” 

The voice was level, cold, and inexpressibly 
contemptuous. Had he been speaking of some 
unclean crawling creature he could not have 
voiced his disdain with a more complete, im- 
personal indifference. As he listened Vermont 
grew hot and cold by turns. Refutation bub- 
bled to his lips only to die away in impotent 
breathings. 


251 


The Woman > the Rian, and the Monster 


“You do not believe him!” she gasped. 

“Not a word,” he said. She slipped her hand 
in his. Her fingers, which had been like ice, 
were now burning as with fever. 

“Yet who should know better than you that 
I am speaking the truth? In any case it can- 
not alter the matter. Not being responsible 
for her actions, this woman is not fit to be at 
large. Though, so far, you appear not to see 
the matter in this light, I can assure you that 
I am about to relieve you of an intolerable 
burden. The care is mine, worse luck ; another 
of the many crosses which have been heaped 
upon me by inconsiderate fate.” 

“Until that care has merged into brutality?” 

“So that is the story? I don’t know why I 
listen to you, unless it is the result of that 
sympathy for a mutual victim. A fellow feel- 
ing, my dear sir. We must stop these mad 
pranks. She must make no more fools of 
men.” 

Though his voice was still steady enough, 
his manner a strained composure, his eyes be- 
gan to dart wild glances round the room. The 
veins in them seemed to grow more prominent, 
the glitter more cruelly fierce, while his lower 
252 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


lip, which had grown pale, quivered with an 
agitation he was powerless to conceal. 

“I can only suggest again that you have 
your remedy,” said Vermont in a cold voice. 

“But I have already told you my objection 
to that method. I would suggest — respectful- 
ly suggest — that my wife return to her duties.” 

“That I will never do, I swear it,” cried 
Andromeda vehemently. “I would rather die 
first.” 

“No, my dear Irene, your sort don’t die for 
so little provocation. They prefer to live — and 
enjoy themselves. Perhaps, Mr. Vermont, you 
are not aware that all our difficulties have 
arisen through a mistaken sense of what en- 
joyment really means? My wife and I hold dif- 
ferent opinions on this subject. Hence a multi- 
plicity of misunderstandings. But for the life of 
me I cannot conceive why I take the trouble to 
enter into these explanations. It seems to me 
a matter with which you have no concern what- 
ever. I must confess my patience surprises me. 
I did not think I had such command of any 
one virtue. Singular perversity of nature. But 
the time is flying. Are you ready, Irene?” 

253 


The Woman , the Man ; and the Monster 


“I will not go with you,” she said. “Perseus, 
I am afraid. Do not let him touch me.” 

A slow smile broke over Brenton’s dark face. 

“One would think that I have been un- 
necessarily brutal, when I have only sought 
to impose restraint. Perseus!” He smiled 
queerly as he rolled the word round his tongue. 
“I think I understand the application. A 
harsh measure, I admit, but one not unfitting 
the offence.” 

“The offence, that I would not submit to 
his degrading me lower than the beasts,” she 
cried; “that I would not become the loathsome 
creature he would make of me, submit to his 
brutalised instincts, pander to his unspeakable 
depravity.” 

“What had you to lose?” He spoke harsh- 
ly, the blood mounting to his forehead. “Come, 
enough of this. I grow weary. Too long have 
I condescended to argue the matter. I haven’t 
hunted for you for weeks to let you go now 
that I’ve found you. That I find you here, 
the mistress of this man, is no surprise. But 
you are mine, by every law you are mine, and 
I will not have my name made a byword and a 
254 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


jest. These are my rights and, by God, I 
mean to insist on them!” 

He sprang forward as if to seize her, but 
with a sharp cry of terror she slipped like a 
flash from the room, swiftly slamming the door 
behind her. Vermont flew to the door and 
placed his back against it. Brenton advanced 
upon him with a flushed and furious face, hands * 
clenched and uplifted as if to strike. But meet- 
ing a steady and resolute gaze he stopped short, 
and a wicked, contemptuous smile broke slow- 
ly across his face. 

“You fool, she’s not worth it!” 


255 


VIII 


Vermont nodded, but he never shifted his 
glance from the scowling, sneering face before 
him. Believing an attack to be imminent, he 
prepared to meet it. Indeed, the hope was 
surging wildly in him that Brenton would pre- 
cipitate a quarrel. His mood was such that 
he would willingly have wiped off some of the 
debt that Andromeda owed. 

“I tell you she’s not worth it,” repeated 
Brenton savagely, “and if it were not for the 
sake of my own good name I should let her 
go to the devil with all the pleasure in life. 
The woman has been a curse to me, a curse 
to all with whom she has come in contact. Such 
women are born to be the plague and horror 
of a man’s life. They are like a deadly blight 
or miasma that destroys all green and good 
things; there is nothing for them but annihila- 
tion, a swift blotting out, utter and infinite ex- 
tinction. Good God! man, would you nourish 
256 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


a viper, or offer your soul to the devil as a 
plaything? I tell you, you cannot even guess 
your peril. Let danger upon danger upon 
danger accumulate, but it is nothing to the 
catastrophe that threatens you here.” 

Curiously nervous was his attitude as he 
delivered this warning; more curious still the 
mad, glaring look in his eyes. Why he did 
not spring or strike Vermont could not con- 
ceive. Every moment it seemed as though he 
would hurl himself forward and so put su- 
premacy to the touch. Yet the mad humour 
of the situation was not less than his anger, 
and in a way he seemed to appreciate it. Also 
there may have been pity for this determined 
defender of the worthless. 

“I can believe you perfectly innocent of all 
knowledge.” It was ominous how the long 
fingers expanded and contracted like the claws 
of a tiger. “When a woman makes up her 
mind to deceive, a man is a mere infant in her 
hands. We’re no match for their cunning, 
Vermont; we are as a piece of flotsam caught 
in the whirl of the maelstrom. Once, among the 
mountains of India, a bearer of mine slipped 
and fell over a precipice. Hearing his shriek 
257 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


I looked down and saw him whirling through 
space ; saw him clutch with fingers and toes the 
thin air as he twisted through it. Three thou- 
sand feet below we might have found his body 
if we had taken the trouble to look. Well, a 
man in the hands of a woman is like that bearer, 
and with as little hope.” 

“Or a woman in the hands of a had man?” 

A superior smile of pity and contempt gave 
to his glance an unpleasant condescension; but 
Vermont was shrewd to see how the mind, per- 
verted by passion, was yet given to speculation, 
nor was he slow to avail himself of the sug- 
gestion. 

“Of course you have heard things? The 
awakening of pity is one of the arts least neg- 
lected by woman. When everything else fails 
she invariably resorts to tears. I know her so 
well; too well for my peace of mind. Between 
a woman and her tears lie all the depths of 
infamous disaster. One can almost hear them 
splash into hell!” 

He ceased for a moment and seemed to lis- 
ten, face eager, eyes aflame with expectancy. 
Vermont shuddered in spite of himself. The 
tension was horrible, intolerable. If at any 
258 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


moment he had entertained doubts of Bren- 
ton’s sanity he could now doubt no longer. 
Yet there was a cool, calm reasoning faculty 
about the man which could not be denied. If 
this were really madness, then did it seem 
doubly dangerous. 

“Listen to me, Brenton,” he said, conceiv- 
ing it the wiser course to approach the man 
without betraying a suspicion of his inner 
thoughts. “You quite believe, in the first place, 
that I was totally unaware of her relationship 
to you?” 

“I must.” 

“That she may be all you say I am rather 
inclined to doubt; but even if she were, that 
is no excuse for your gross treatment of her. 
I presume you have already guessed how I 
found her?” 

“I think so.” 

“Stark naked — tied to a tree! Your wife, 
Brenton — think! This is not the day of the 
heathen, but that of the civilised Christian. The 
savage who could be guilty of such an act 
makes himself amenable to the law of the land. 
Why, man, it becomes a matter for the po- 
lice.” 


259 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


He smiled. “Why doesn’t she denounce 
me?” 

“How could any modest woman ” 

But Brenton cut him short with a harsh 
laugh. 

“Modest woman! So you are still fool 
enough to use that worn-out cliche. Shall 
I tell you something about this ‘modest wo- 
man,’ this modest ? She was all that 

before I married her. I admit her feminine 
attractions ; they are many, they fascinated me. 
I did not care what she had been; I did not 
stay to think. I only knew that I wanted her, 
wanted her madly; and she played her game 
to perfection. Oh, the cunning of her, the su- 
preme insolence ! But how to turn black white ? 
Her end achieved there was less cause for sub- 
terfuge. Train a tiger to lie down with a 
lamb ; by taking thought transfer the leopard’s 
spots. This was my task. . . . When a 

woman is like that no power on earth can save 
her. It is like drink or drugs — hopeless; the 
end inevitable. I did all in my power. I have 
beaten her.” 

“Beaten her! You dog!” 

Andromeda beaten! The blood surged to 
260 


The Woman,, the Man, and the Monster 


his eyes; for a moment he saw things through 
a crimson mist. 

“Why not? Is not the husband a law unto 
the wife? Has not the law the power and the 
right to punish the evildoer? This last pun- 
ishment seemed peculiarly fitted to her crimes. 
One must exorcise the devil at all costs.” 

“And you would have left her there to per- 
ish?” 

“Oh, no. I should have returned at dusk; 
as a matter of fact I did. The result you know. 
Ever since I have been dashing about in search 
of her. For love, of course.” He laughed 
weirdly, though his eye was steady, cold and 
unresponsive. “Singular how fortune favours 
the indefatigable. What god is it, I wonder, 
that watches over the destinies of desperate 
husbands? But for this opportune accident I 
might now be flying somewhere through Sus- 
sex. Don’t you see the hand of Providence? 
It makes me think that there may be something 
sacramental in marriage after all. You have 
no idea how inconceivably attached I am to the 
bond. Marriage imposes a serious and inalien- 
able obligation on a man. Not alone is his 
own integrity at stake, but into his charge has 
261 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


been given something even more sacred, the 
integrity of one who would be lost utterly 
without his wisdom and guidance. By God! 
Vermont, it’s a terrible thing to love a woman 
to distraction, and to desire her in spite of 
hell!” 

While he was speaking Carey Vermont 
watched him with increasing wonder. At times 
he had no doubt of the man’s madness; again 
there came a doubt, and with it infinite con- 
cern. How much of this weird tale he was to 
believe he could not say, while the thought of 
being disloyal to Andromeda, even for a mo- 
ment, filled him with an inconceivable contempt 
of himself. Yet while he despised and hated 
this intolerable monster, there were certain rap- 
pings at his brain which would not be wholly 
denied. That he would open to their insistence 
was entirely another matter. But in the mean- 
time the man was here, and the situation was 
of extreme delicacy. 

That Andromeda would return with her hus- 
band he did not for a moment believe, nor did 
he hide from himself the fact that of all pos- 
sible solutions this was the one he least de- 
sired. Come what might he could not part 
262 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


with her now. Even were her offences infinite- 
ly more serious than Brenton had suggested, 
she was still the woman who loved him, whom 
he loved. He had seen nothing monstrous in 
her, nor did he believe it to exist. Moreover, 
what of her explanation? Was he to wave it 
aside to credit the tale of this madman? 

But how to circumvent the enemy? Bren- 
ton had maintained an attitude of scrupulous 
contempt; he had spoken, too, as a man of 
no wandering fancy. That the brute was 
strong in him that heavy jaw proclaimed. Ver- 
mont measured him coolly, carefully, as a think- 
ing man might regard an onerous task before 
him. How far could he go? That she must 
not return to her husband was evident; that 
she would not he believed. Was reason to be 
entirely banished? 

Almost like one in a dream he had listened 
to Brenton’s talk, yet ever on the alert to dis- 
cover a flaw, the weakness of which he might 
take advantage. Yet he never discovered it. 
If this man was mad there was little to show 
it. Rather did he give the impression of one 
who was so sure of himself, so sure of ultimate 
victory, that he was ready to treat all opposi- 
263 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


tion with the utmost tolerance. There was 
through it all a concentrated air of superiority 
which impressed even while it annoyed, an un- 
shaken belief in the power and the right of his 
cause with which Carey Vermont believed he 
would have little difficulty in dealing. 

“Can you understand,” he began tentative- 
ly, “that I have learnt to love this woman?” 

“Quite well. She is the kind of woman a 
man would love, not knowing her.” 

“What if she also should love me?” 

“That would be doubly unfortunate. She 
will probably die in the gutter.” His lips curled 
sarcastically. Evidently the thought was not 
altogether unpalatable. 

“Not while I live. Don’t you understand, 
Brenton? We are fighting for this woman’s 
soul — you and I.” 

“Her soul! I doubt if she has one. Or if 
she has it is already lost. Or if not lost there 
is no one, except me, who can save it. Are you 
also beginning to see light ahead?” 

Not much, he inwardly confessed; yet it was 
something that this man consented to argu- 
ment. 

“Shall we let her choose between us?” 

264 


The W Oman , the Man , and the Monster 


Again Brenton’s lips curled scornfully, 
though this time the scorn suggested an under- 
thought of amusement. 

“No; she would choose the wrong instinctive- 
ly. My obvious and imperative duty is to 
bring her back to reason.” 

“By what means? In these days the task 
of forcing a woman is not easy. You have 
had some experience of that.” 

“And learnt by experience. Really, Ver- 
mont, I seem to be treating you with quite 
unnecessary consideration. Singular, too, how 
a man obstinately refuses to accept grace. But 
time flies.” Indeed, the sun was already throw- 
ing a long black shadow of the house across 
the grass. “You will admit that I have lis- 
tened to you with some degree of patience. 
Now, if you have no objection, having given 
the lady some time to think, we will see if she 
is more amenable to reason.” 

Vermont was still for barring his progress, 
but a sudden wild hope sprang to life within 
him. Andromeda was a woman of resource, 
imagination, courage. Had she made good the 
opportunity? He stood aside with a low bow 
and an anxious beating of the heart. Bren- 
265 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


ton strode towards the door with a triumphant 
smile, opened it, and called loudly, “Irene!” 

In answer to his call Mrs. Selton came clat- 
tering from the kitchen, her manner greatly 
agitated. 

“Where is your mistress?” asked Brenton 
sharply, suspiciously. She turned an appeal- 
ing glance to Vermont. He nodded. 

“Gone, sir,” she gasped. 

“Gone!” Brenton almost screamed the 
word. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Where — when — which way?” 

She pointed through the back door over 
against the woods. Brenton uttered a furious 
exclamation and dashed out. Vermont fol- 
lowed him to the door and watched him as he 
flew along the little path. 

“How long has she been gone?” he asked of 
the trembling woman by his side. 

“Quite a little time, sir. She seemed like 
one gone suddenly mad as she came from the 
room. But she stopped at the doorway and 
looked at me with wild eyes. ‘Something has 
happened,’ she said, ‘and I am going away. 
But tell him I will come back again.’ That 
260 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


was all, sir. Then she bolted like a deer towards 
the woods. Pore lady, she was scared to death. 
What is it, sir?” 

But without answering he flung off after 
the flying Brenton. His brain was awhirl; 
every nerve of him was throbbing excitedly. A 
thousand vague apprehensions besieged him; 
his ears throbbed with a multitude of strange 
sounds. Yet through it all her message beat 
with singular insistence. 

“I will come back again— tell him I will 
come back again.” 


'267 


IX 


Through the woods he flew, over the heath- 
lands, calling “Andromeda! Andromeda!” 
Trembling he listened for the reply, but no 
sound reached him. Each nook, each spot 
which she had consecrated by her presence, and 
which had now become holy ground to him, 
he visited in turn, but caught neither sight nor 
sound of her. Nor of that other, the pursuer, 
the man who had hunted her down at last. 
How he hated him! Both had disappeared, 
swallowed up as it were by the fast-descend- 
ing night. 

He maintained his search until a late hour, 
but without success. Then slowly he dragged 
a weary body and a more weary mind back to 
the cottage. Could she by any chance have 
returned? It was a faint hope, almost still- 
born. He could not think that she would re- 
turn, though there was the desperate hope that 
she might crawl back to him. 

268 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Andromeda!” he moaned; “Andromeda!” 

A light shone through the open door of 
the kitchen, and Mrs. Selton gazed up at him 
with a strained look of interrogation. He 
shook his head despondently. 

“She has not returned?” 

“No, sir.” 

She followed him into the sitting-room, lamp 
in hand. 

“I have prepared your supper, sir.” Ab- 
sently he thanked her. “I suppose you will 
not want me any more to-night?” 

“No.” 

When she was gone he took the lamp in his 
hand and entered their bedroom. All was just 
as he had last seen it. There was her light coat 
hanging behind the door; her little satin slip- 
pers were at the foot of the bed. Nothing had 
been touched. He remembered that she had 
worn her hat all through that painful inter- 
view; he remembered many little trivial things, 
incongruous little things in the face of such a 
calamity. He leant over the bed and kissed 
her pillow. 

“Andromeda!” he whispered; “Andromeda!” 

Back again in the sitting-room he placed the 
269 , 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


light in the window. Somewhere out there she 
might be creeping through brake or hedgerow. 
Almost he fancied he could see her white face 
shining at him through the night. Higher he 
lifted the window and drew back the curtains. 
Attracted by the light, numerous insects flut- 
tered into the room. Curiously he watched 
them as they whirled round and round the 
lamp. Sometimes they blundered blindly to 
their death. He saw them die without pity or 
remorse. Things had a way of dying. Flow- 
ers and moths — and women. 

Mechanically he lit a pipe and sat down 
to wait and watch. Always in moments of 
great mental agitation he smoked, smoked in- 
cessantly, almost unknowingly. It was to him 
what drink is to another. But his eyes rarely 
left the window, his ears were ever on the alert. 
A dozen times he rose swiftly to his feet. What 
was that? Some sound, heard only by him, 
seemed to startle the night. Why did she not 
come? Would she never come? Did she not 
know that he was waiting for her — that he 
would be waiting? Together they could steal 
away and be lost in the wilderness , of men. 

270 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


What cause of fear had she with him beside 
her? 

What was that? Softly he sprang to his 
feet and crossed over to the window. Even a 
cat might not have heard the sound. Yet low 
as it was it fell distinctly on his ear. He looked 
out into the night. 

“Andromeda!” he whispered; “Andromeda!” 

Out of the darkness came a low, mocking 
laugh, and Brenton, his face ghastly, pallid, 
emerged into the light. 

“So you keep late vigil,” he sneered. 

But Vermont did not mark the tone ; he only 
saw the man who had gone in pursuit. 

“Have you seen her?” he asked eagerly. 

The other laughed that low, cold, tantalising 
laugh. 

“No — not yet. But see how the moths are 
attracted by that light.” Then he laughed 
again. “She will return.” 

His teeth gleamed ominously behind his pale 
lips; the eyes were shining with an unnatural 
brilliancy, shining like pin points of fire 
through the night. He was bareheaded, and 
his dark hair hung low on his forehead in 
jagged wisps. His collar had gone, torn away 
271 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


from its fastening, and showed his bare muscu- 
lar throat. Dishevelled, torn by shrub and 
briar, face emaciated, eyes gleaming, he looked 
like a man who had walked out of a nightmare. 
Vermont shuddered as he looked at him and 
knew that he was mad. 

“I shall wait,” he said; “we will both wait.” 

He turned away chuckling. Vermont called 
to him in desperation, but received no reply. 
Like a phantom the man had come; like a 
shadow he faded away. 

The long night dragged through and the 
day began to break, but Andromeda never 
came near. Then the watcher, still leaving the 
lamp burning, the window and doors wide 
open, crawled into the other room, and, dressed 
as he was, flung himself on the bed. Mrs. Sel- 
ton, coming at her usual hour, found him in a 
deep, uneasy sleep and wakened him; but he 
only turned from her and buried his face in 
the pillow. 

How that day passed he really never knew. 
Now he was scouring the neighbourhood with 
feverish steps, inquiring of all with whom he 
came in contact, and now waiting, watching by 
272 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


the window, or pacing with hasty strides the 
strip of grass before the cottage. 

But she never came. 

Neither had he caught sight or sign of Bren- 
ton, though he half believed that the man 
loitered somewhere in the immediate vicinity. 
Imagination played strange tricks with him. 
Sometimes he would start and turn quickly, 
being sure that he heard her footstep; again 
he would rush wildly into the house certain 
that she had called to him. At other times he 
fancied he could see Brenton’s evil face star- 
ing at him through the hedge opposite. Once 
he swung swiftly across the roadway to ex- 
plore, and found nothing. Brenton also had 
vanished from the face of things. 

But she never came. 

On the following morning his mind was 
made up. He would go to London, whither 
she had probably flown. He remembered now 
that her purse contained two or three gold 
pieces; likewise that she wore the ring and the 
bangle he had given her in Guildford. Though 
the former was merely a wedding ring (he 
remembered how she professed disdain of such 
a subterfuge), the latter was of some value. 

273 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


She would not be without food and shelter. 
Also she knew his town address. Unless her 
protestations were wholly false she would com- 
municate with him. 

“I am going to London,” he explained to 
Mrs. Selton, “and may return to-night, but of 
this I cannot be certain. If I do not you must 
stay here and wait in case she comes. If she 
does, tell her I have gone to look for her, give 
her this money, and tell her to follow.” 

He slipped a banknote into the hands of the 
frightened woman and left her. Truly she had 
never seen so great a change in a man. His 
usually impassive face was twitching with ex- 
citement; his eyes had grown piercing and wild. 
The good lady was quite convinced that she 
had been sheltering a brood of escaped lunatics. 

Arriving in London, he sprang into a taxie 
and was whirled with all haste to his rooms in 
Westminster. Eagerly he searched his accu- 
mulated correspondence, but without finding a 
word from her. Again he went over it swiftly, 
feverishly, but he knew that he was searching 
for that which did not exist. Stupefied he 
looked at the pile of letters, scarcely yet be- 
lieving that which he knew to be true. Then 
274 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


he rang for the porter. Was he sure that no 
lady had been making inquiries? The man was 
certain. He had not yet been away for his 
holiday; he was not going until the end of 
the month. If he could do anything? Smales 
had been round the day before ; he often called 
in case he should be wanted. 

“Send him to me when he comes,” he said. 

He went out and walked the streets for 
hours in the hope of seeing her. When he re- 
turned, footsore and sick at heart, the imper- 
turbable Smales was waiting for him. Smales’s 
round eyes opened wide with apprehension as 
he noted the change in his master’s appear- 
ance. 

“Are you ill, sir? What has happened?” 

He told him, more or less coherently. 
Smales listened respectfully, but evinced no 
great surprise. He had expected something if 
not this. 

“I have come to find her,” explained the 
master, “and you must help me. London is a 
big place, John, but the odds are in favour of 
the West End. We must search.” He gave 
him money. “Go everywhere, follow every 
clue. I shall not rest until I have found her.” 

275 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


Smales would have been little less than hu- 
man had he not taken some credit for his own 
prescience, but never by a flicker of the eyelid 
did he betray it. This despair of another was 
not the moment for his triumph. While he be- 
lieved that, in spite of himself, Carey Vermont 
was being served well by fate, he had no other 
wish than to serve, to ease the anguish which 
was so painfully apparent. 

“We’ll find her, sir,” he said. 


276 


BOOK IV 


I 

London was supposed to be empty. It is 
a consoling fiction which still obtains among a 
certain section of the vast community, espe- 
cially that section which annually migrates to 
the country house or the continental watering 
place, where the evil effects of general intem- 
perance are supposed to receive a salutary 
check. Carey Vermont found that there were 
still a few millions left in the great metropolis 
who seemed totally oblivious of the fact that 
they did not count, or that a certain part of 
the more fashionable quarter was more or less 
deserted. Freed of that self-sufficient section 
London was quite an agreeable desert, which 
he haunted with most amazing persistency. 

To be sure, a regular habitue of the Park 
would have found its desolation heartbreaking. 
The numerous empty chairs seemed to grin 

277 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


in desperation at their loneliness; the ticket col- 
lectors lounged in the shade of the trees and 
dozed. Here and there an occasional carriage 
broke the long monotony of deserted road ; fre- 
quently that carriage was so obviously hired 
for the occasion as to need no second glance. 
Now and again the strident transatlantic ac- 
cent reached him; frequently he passed a little 
knot of foreigners, the women overdressed, 
the men unspeakable. Though he took no in- 
terest in them, he could not help comparing the 
men with the women. The Frenchwoman, if 
she did not always look a lady, wore clothes of 
some attractiveness; but the men! 

Slowly the conviction was forced on him that 
London deserted was a restful, pleasant sort 
of place, though from another point of view 
the desolation was wicked. Yet at that mo- 
ment he would have found little to charm him 
in a crowd. 

As he swung along by Stanhope Gate he 
glanced eagerly to the right and left. Twice 
already he had walked from the Row to the 
Marble Arch, and he was now beating the 
homeward journey. Sometimes he would dash 
across the grass to get a better view of a wom- 
278 . 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


an walking in the distance. Any figure that 
at all resembled Andromeda’s he trembled to 
approach. Indeed, he was so closely watching 
a woman on the other side of the road that he 
failed to notice a carriage drawn up against 
the rails, or a pale, eager face which was watch- 
ing him intently. 

“Mr. Vermont!” 

He started at the sound of his own name; 
almost for the moment it seemed as though it 
could not be his. As he turned and looked into 
that eager face a curious, nervous glance shot 
from his eyes. 

“Pauline !” he said as he approached the car- 
riage. She held out her hand in cordial greet- 
ing. 

“You are surprised to see me?” 

“Rather. What are you doing in town in 
the dog-days?” 

“Duty.” He looked at her for further ex- 
planation. “You did not know, of course. You 
have not been near us for so long.” There was 
the suggestion of a reproach in this. “My aunt 
was too ill to leave town, and I am spending 
a week with her.” 

“Always kind, Pauline.” 

279 


The Woman , the Wan, and the Monster 


“Oh, no! What could one do?” 

“There is only one other alternative.” 

She protested prettily, and she was a pretty 
girl in rather a fragile manner. Her complex- 
ion, though pale, perhaps a little too pale, was 
amazingly clear, and free of all suggestion of 
unhealthiness. She had an exceedingly sweet 
red mouth, a straight nose, and fine dark eyes. 
Once he had thought those eyes full of wonder 
— until he had looked into eyes more wonder- 
ful. 

“But what are you doing here?” she asked 
suddenly. “I thought you were motoring in 
Scotland.” 

“Man proposes.” But his smile was not so 
free of embarrassment as he might have wished. 
“We had a serious breakdown, so I seized the 
opportunity to return and do a little business.” 

She received his explanation without the 
least sign of suspicion, though there was a wist- 
ful, wondering look in her eyes which made him 
feel inexplicably guilty, and led almost to fur- 
ther explanation, which might have taken the 
fatal form of apology. People always said 
it was not easy to lie with Pauline Clarendon’s 
great, serious eyes staring at one. 

280 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Are you very busy now?” she asked. 

“Oh, dear, no.” 

He answered almost before he was aware 
of it. Yet he quickly realised that he could 
have given no other reply. 

“Then let me drive you round the Park; 
or shall I drive you home?” 

“It’s ages since I have driven round the 
Park,” he said. 

She made room for him on the seat beside 
her, and the champing horses were immediate- 
ly set going. 

This too was a help for him, and as they 
bowled along he flung glances to right and 
left, but never at her, although she chatted in- 
cessantly. He did not notice that her chatter 
ceased of a sudden, and that a strained, wistful 
look came into those great dark eyes. 

“Who are you looking for?” she asked. He 
started, but as he turned to her he was smi- 
ling, and the answer came pat enough: 

“I was wondering if we should see any of 
our unfortunate friends.” 

“Unfortunate?” 

“Having to remain here in the dog-days.” 


281 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Do you think it so unfortunate?” she asked 
in a low voice. 

“On the contrary.” He was looking at her 
now, but she, having said so much, dared not 
return his glance. “Nor would they if they 
could drive with you, Pauline. I am blessed 
beyond my deserts.” 

“Some people always are.” 

He was rather glad she took it like that. It 
made things easier. Memory was hard at work. 
Scenes, incidents in which she had played no 
inconspicuous part, rapidly unrolled them- j 
selves. It was all so short a time ago, and yet | 
how far away it seemed. What would she say 1 
if she knew? What she would think he guessed. ] 
This pale moon-girl* was eclipsed in the gor- 1 
geous, sun-like rays of Andromeda. Androm- | 
eda! He almost wondered if he breathed J 
the name aloud. Yet there was contrast too: 3 
the pale lily of chastity, the flaming, glorious J 
rose. He looked more closely at her and won- | 
dered at the difference in women. 

Why he had not asked her to be his wife he 
could not say. The word had bubbled to his | 
tongue a score of times; there were occasions i 
when the touch of her hand had made him 
282 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


tremble, when a look from her honest brown 
eyes had shaken the soul of him. And now 
there was a whole passionate world between 
them. He looked at her without emotion, or 
with but a vague curiosity. She was still very 
sweet in her pale, lovely fashion. In her soft 
white gown she looked so beautifully cool and 
fresh in the glare of that August sun. The 
great black hat with its white plumes added a 
perfect finish to the picture. Around them 
London steamed in an agony of heat. In 
places the grass showed brown and bare. Yet 
she moved through it all like a fragrant white 
flower, and made him think of shady valleys 
and cool sweet breezes. 

“I did not know La$y Sherringford was so 
ill,” he said at last. He was not really in- 
terested in Lady Sherringford, but the white 
figure beside him had been strangely silent for 
some time. 

“Poor aunt ! I am afraid she has been rather 
bad, but we hope to get her down to Sherring- 
ford next week. Are you coming?” 

“I hope so,” he replied; “though this 
wretched business with the car is sui’e to upset 
my arrangements.” 


283 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“It will probably not be very gay,” she said. 
The little catch in her voice may or may not 
have escaped him, and as he happened to be 
looking away at that moment he did not no- 
tice the slight indrawing of the lips. 

“I suppose you are very much alone at 
present?” 

Again he was not particularly interested, but 
it did strike him in a vague sort of way, owing 
no doubt to the obvious scarcity of vehicular 
traffic, that there really were very few people 
in town — that is, very few who counted. 

“Occasionally an odd caller drops in. This 
morning we had the greatest surprise of all.” 
“Oh!” 

“Digby Brenton turned up, from Heaven 
knows where. He looked awfully ill, and be- 
haved more eccentrically than ever.” 

Digby Brenton! Well for him that she 
was looking straight ahead or she must have 
noticed his agitation. He remembered now 
that Brenton was a cousin of hers, and that in 
years gone by this same Lady Sherringford 
had unduly spoiled the boy. But Brenton in 
London! Had he come to watch the flat 
in Westminster? 


284 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“He always was rather eccentric,” he said, 
and marvelled at the steadiness of his own 
voice. 

“One might easily call it more than eccen- 
tricity,” she replied. “I suppose you heard of 
his marriage?” 

“Ah, then he’s married at last !” he answered 
evasively. But he was still looking straight 
ahead of him, marvelling at the strange pranks 
we are sometimes forced to play. 

“An awful mesalliance, aunt says; some 
singing woman whom he met abroad. Of 
course they were not happy. I believe she is 
not a very nice person.” 

“Is he?” 

“Oh, but that’s different, isn’t it? Besides, 
I know little of him beyond hearsay, and frank- 
ly that little has not been to his advantage. 
Personally I should say that he is quite mad.” 

“You are charitable, my dear Pauline. Did 
he mention me at all?” 

“I never heard.” 

“Then you did not see him?” 

“Only for a moment as he rushed from the 
room. I am not sure that he even knew who 
I was. He was muttering to himself in the 
285 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


most furious manner. His face frightened me. 
Aunt says she is sure he is insane. His wife 
has left him.” 

“Can you wonder at it?” 

“Why, of course I don’t know the circum- 
stances.” 

“But are ready to blame the woman, Paul- 
ine?” 

“No, indeed. I am not that kind of person. 
I am not one of those women who are ready 
to heap all the blame on their own sex. I 
thought you knew me better than that.” 

“And so I think I do.” 

“Of course you think me horrid.” 

Though she turned sharply from him he 
caught a glimpse of the full, pouting mouth. 
After all she was only a girl who was striving 
hard to play the part of a woman. 

“On the contrary. But of course it doesn’t 
matter much to you what I think?” 

“Why should it? Tastes differ, you know.” 

He smiled. She was only a petulant child 
after all. 

“There can be no difference of opinion where 
you are concerned.” 

“You still know how to flatter.” 

286 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


The frown was breaking into a charming 
smile. 

“I still know how to admire, how to appre- 
ciate. Come, we are still good friends, are we 
not?” 

“Of course. But here we are at the Comer. 
Shall I drive you home?” 

“It will not be putting you to any incon- 
venience?” 

“How absurd you are.” 

A young girl likes to call a man absurd, espe- 
cially when she knows the epithet is not appro- 
priate. The attitude is almost like an unmerited 
crown of dignity. As a rule women are not 
averse from decking themselves in the un- 
usual. 

At another time he might have found some 
amusement in the situation, or a more serious 
interest; but just then his thoughts were far 
away, and of a truth the girl’s chatter fell on 
rather unsympathetic ears. 

They drew up before the building, dubbed 
“Mansions,” where he lived, nor was she slow 
to note his alacrity in alighting. Women are 
never slow to note these things, infinitesimal 
287 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster " 


instances which mark the gulf between the 
sexes. 

“Thanks so much,” he said as he held out 
his hand. “It was awfully good of you to take 
pity on my loneliness.” 

Something told her that it was all perfunc- 
tory, that he was but uttering the stereotyped 
commonplaces of his kind. Yet with a gulp 
she swallowed her pride and smiled. 

“You are leaving town at once?” 

“Almost.” 

“Shall we see you at Sherringford?” 

He hesitated. “I — I hope so.” 

The mouth drew in again, the eyes grew 
a trifle sullen. 

“Then good-bye. I will tell my aunt I have 
seen you.” 

“Remember me kindly to her.” 

“Home!” she said quickly. 

He drew back and watched the carriage as 
it rolled away. Irresolute he stood for a mo- 
ment or so, a strange wistful look in his eyes. 
Then straightening himself he turned and 
quickly crossed the pavement. 


288 


II 


As he entered the hall the porter handed 
him a letter. 

“Came about an hour ago, sir,” was the 
explanation. 

Looking at the superscription he could 
scarcely suppress an exclamation of joy. 
Though he had only seen scraps of her hand- 
writing he knew it in a moment. Yet he man- 
aged to preserve some show of dignity as he 
entered the lift and was carried to his flat. 
Yet almost before the door shut behind him 
the envelope was torn open. 

“I am here in Staines at the Swan,” said the 
letter, which was written hurriedly on a sheet 
of plain paper. “If you can still believe in 
me — come. I am hoping that this will find 
you, but I dare not write to the cottage. I 
am sick at heart, Perseus, and longing for the 
sight of you. What I have suffered! Your 
miserable Andromeda.” 

289 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


The last word was a long sprawling scrawl, 
written as one might write whose hand was 
trembling, whose eyes were dim with tears. 
Upon that trembling scrawl be pressed his lips, 
hastily folded it up, put it in his breast pocket, 
and then flew to the telephone. 

Eagerly he hunted the book for the number 
of the Swan, fearful least he should not find 
it there. But the place proved to be of suffi- 
cient importance to own a telephone, and he 
rang up the number. Interminable seemed the 
wait, as it always does when one is hanging on 
to the line; but presently that low humming 
sound reached his ear which denotes connec- 
tion. 

“Hullo!” 

“Hullo! Is that the Swan at Staines?” 

“Yes. Who are you?” 

This was a quandary. How had Androm- 
eda named herself? He hesitated, but not 
for long. There was only one course open to 
him, and he took it as a desperate venture. 

“Will you tell Mrs. Vermont that her hus- 
band wants to speak to her?” 

“Mrs. who?” 

“Mrs. Vermont.” 


290 


The Woman, the M an, and the Monster 


“Oh ! Just hold on to the line for a minute.” 

He hung on to it in an agony of despera- 
tion, fearing lest he should be cut off. Other 
voices reached him mumbling along the line; 
indistinct sounds which seemed like the mut- 
tering of ghosts. Was she there? Was she 
in? He suffered anguish unspeakable in those 
few moments. Then a low voice came to him, 
but low as it was he recognised it, and he 
glared into the receiver as though he were star- ' 
ing into her eyes. 

“Who is it?” 

“Andromeda!” 

“Perseus!” 

He heard her gasp with joy, and something 
like a little cry came to him over the wire. 

“My dear, I have been looking for you every- 
where. Why did you not communicate be- 
fore?” 

“I have been wandering . . . and so 

frightened. Have you seen him?” 

“No. You are not ill?” 

“Not ill as the word is understood. Only 
desperate — and very lonely.” 

The voice seemed to die away in a melan- 
choly wail. 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“I shall leave Waterloo by the first train,” 
he said. “Meet me at the station.” 

“Yes. But, Perseus — ■ — ” 

“Well?” 

“Do you believe him — or me?” 

“You always. I love you, -Andromeda. 
Don’t you understand that ? He is a madman.” 

“If that were all. But he is more . . . 
dangerous. Be careful of him. Do not let 
him ” 

Suddenly the connection was severed. He 
strove to speak further, but it was of no avail. 
Yet enough had been said. He had found her 
and now he was going to her. 

“Get me a taxie,” he cried across the hall 
to the porter. 

“Yes, sir.” 

One happened to be passing the door. The 
porter came out on to the pavement. 

“Where to, sir?” 

“Waterloo. And, oh, tell Smales that I am 
going out of town for a few days, and that I 
will write to him.” 

The man saluted, the motor cab slid off. He 
had not five minutes to wait after getting his 
ticket. It was supposed to be a fast train, but 
292 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


to his thinking never a train crawled so slow- 
ly. Every slight slackening of speed got on 
his nerves. It seemed to him that they were 
continually pulling up at stations and wait- 
ing an unconscionable time. Just outside 
Staines the train stopped, the signals evidently 
being against them. He thought they would 
never move on, and only the folly of jumping 
out and walking prevented him from doing so. 

She was there behind the barrier, she and a 
dozen other women and children. He knew 
her in spite of the thick veil; he would have 
felt her presence even if he were blind. 

“My dear,” he said. 

“Oh, Perseus!” 

But her fingers clung to his, and the very 
hope and agony of life was in the touch. He 
drew her to him and kissed her through the 
veil. Behind the veil he saw that her eyes were 
swimming. 

“Oh, my dear,” he whispered as they left the 
station hand in hand, “I thought I had lost 
you.” 

“Would you be very sorry, Perseus?” 

“Andromeda!” 

“It might have been better,” she said. 

293 


The Woman the Man,Mnd the Monster 


“There can be no ‘better’ without you. 

They hailed a fly and drove to the hotel. He 
was still playing with her hand, caressing it 
softly, gently, and insensibly she seemed to 
nestle closer to him. 

“Fate might have been kinder to you,” she 
said. 

“Let me hear no more of that, Andromeda. 
It did me the greatest kindness I have ever 
known. It is I who owe the apology. But 
for me ” 

“God knows what would have happened,” 
she exclaimed vehemently. “Perseus, I am 
afraid.” 

“There is nothing to be afraid of now that 
I have found you.” 

She nestled closer, evidently consoled by this 
assurance. Then as suddenly she drew away 
from him and looked up into his face. 

“Have you seen him?” 

“No.” 

“Do you know where he is?” 

“I believe he is in London.” 

“In London ! Has he seen you?” 

“I think not — no, I am sure he has not.” 

294 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“But he is in London,” she muttered; “we 
are not safe.” 

“I think so,” he answered reassuringly. 
“Now that I know all, there is nothing more 
to fear.” 

But even this assurance did not seem to give 
entire satisfaction. The looks she flung from 
side to side were still full of an intense alarm, 
and even when the fly drew up before the door 
of the hotel she seemed to hesitate before 
alighting. 

Her room, or rather rooms, were in the 
front of the house overlooking the main road, 
and consisted of a sitting-room and bedroom, 
the latter being entered through folding doors. 

“I came here last night,” she explained, 
dropping limply into a comer of the sofa. “At 
first they seemed suspicious, and asked me 
where my luggage was. I suppose I must 
have looked an awful sight. I know I was dead- 
ly tired. But I told them that my husband 
would be down the next day, and I gave them 
your name. Do you mind?” 

“If I could only give you that name!” 

He sank beside her and took her in his 
arms. Then he raised the heavy veil from her 
295 


The Woman , the Man and the Monster 


face, and though it struck him like a chill to 
see how pale she looked, he said nothing of it, 
but drew her close to him once more. 

“Then you don’t believe what he said?” 

“I know the man was lying, and that he is 
half mad.” 

“But if it were true?” 

“I should still remember that I love you, and 
that I believe you love me.” 

“With all my heart. Perseus, you can never 
know how much I love you.” 

“Have I not had proof?” 

“All that might have been with a purpose. 
Abandoned as I was, desperate, I didn’t care 
what happened. You seemed a way out — and 
a gratification. Luck wasn’t so bad after all. 
But that was only at first, while my heart was 
still full of bitterness and hatred. I was suf- 
fering horribly; I think I was the loneliest 
thing in the world just then. Have you ever 
been very reckless, have you ever felt that you 
didn’t care a scrap for the world or the world’s 
opinion? Can you imagine what it is to feel 
that the whole world is shut tight against you, 
bolted, barred and double-padlocked — that you 
are alone, so dreadfully alone that there seems 
296 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


to be nothing more in life? Smug philosophy 
says it is our own fault; that if we are not 
petted, caressed, loved, the cause will be found 
in us. It may be so, but when the ordeal comes 
we are unfortunately still very human. Then 
it is that the devil comes along, takes us up 
and whirls us onward into madness. We don’t 
dwell on the commonplaces of life, we are so 
wise, so far-seeing, so infinitely superior to our 
surroundings; yet in those commonplaces lie 
all the germs of our great tragedies. We 
manufacture the evil-doer for the sake of hunt- 
ing him down, just as my lord rears pheasants 
for the pleasure of killing them. Women offer 
fine sport, Perseus — even finer than pheas- 
ants.” 

The intense bitterness drove the look of 
alarm from her face ; the lips, always suggestive 
of mockery, were curling scornfully. Omi- 
nously the heavy brows came together, and be- 
hind them the eyes seemed to recede, curiously, 
repellently. This was the mood he liked least 
of all in her ; it seemed to create a gulf between 
them which he was totally unable to bridge. 
At such moments strange, half-regretful 
thoughts assailed him ; the horizon grew cloudy. 
297 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster, 


“Tell me what happened,” he said. 

“It’s like a horrible dream.” She shuddered 
at the recollection. “How I ran I don’t know, 
for my knees were trembling under me. Have 
you ever dreamt that you were pursued, and 
that, though you strove your hardest, your run 
was no more than a miserable stumbling walk? 
It was like that with me. The man frightened 
me; I saw madness and murder in his eyes. 
How I left the house I don’t know; how I 
crossed the heath I have no recollection. But 
I ran on and on until I fell exhausted. Then 
I crept under some gorse. Once he passed 
quite close, shouting my name. He was cry- 
ing out that he loved me, that if I would come 
back to him he would forgive all. But I 
crouched lower, lower into the earth, and pres- 
ently he rushed by shouting like the maniac 
that he is.” 

“Poor Andromeda!” 

“It’s all horrible, hideous,” she said, shud- 
dering. “Late that night I crawled into a 
village and almost had to beg for shelter, nor 
would they show me to a room until I had paid 
them. A woman may not do these things; a 
woman is handicapped all through. Don’t 
298 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


ask me to tell you any more; I would forget 
it if I could. I have a dim recollection of 
tramping aimlessly, aimlessly until I reached 
this place. For a considerable distance I kept 
close to the river.” 

“Andromeda!” 

“Why not? It’s the best place for some 

of us. But for you, Perseus, I ” Again 

she shuddered, and it needed all his art to 
soothe her. “Were you sorry that I wrote? 
Wouldn’t you i*ather it had been the end?” 

“I should have known no peace till I found 
you.” 

“It would have been such a wrench,” she 
said simply. “I hadn’t the courage. You don’t 
know what a coward I am at heart, nor did 
I know either until I saw the madness in Digby 
Brenton’s eyes. Yet I don’t think that it was 
altogether to save myself that I fled. Do you 
understand?” 

“Quite.” 

“And he lied, Perseus, he lied infamously. 
I tell you this — I who have forfeited the right 
to be believed.” 

“I believe you.” 

“Knowing me as I am?” 

299 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“It is because I know that I believe. Think 
no more of it, Andromeda, and don’t let the 
thought of him cause you further terror.” 

“He is dangerous.” 

“We shall know how to meet him.” 

She caught his hand and pressed it to her 
lips. Then she looked up at him wistfully, 
yearningly. 

“If you have any doubt,” she said, “let me 
hear it now.” 

“I have none,” he assured her. 

“Even such a woman as I may learn to 
love.” 

“I know — I know.” 

“It was my first real taste of happiness,” she 
said brokenly. “I wonder if a man ever fully 
realises what he may become to a woman? 
Yet I should loathe myself if you . . . 

It was for you, Perseus — the joy of you, the 
love of you. You made everything easy for 
me . . . and a woman likes her conscience 

soothed. But if you doubt, tell me of it here, 
now. I dare not trifle with this, nor must you. 
It is all my life.” 

“And mine. For better or worse, Androm- 
eda.” 


300 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


“I love you,” she said. 

He had never a doubt of it; he did not want 
to doubt it. This woman filled his life’s cup 
to the brim; there was no room in it for an- 
other drop. 

Presently he arose and began thoughtfully 
to pace the room. In moments of acute men- 
tal worry he almost invariably lit pipe or ciga- 
rette. He lit a cigarette now, insensibly moving 
towards a small table near the window. There 
was an empty china bowl on the table, and 
into this he dropped the match. The window 
opened on to the street, and with eyes which 
scarcely saw he looked out. Indeed, he was 
turning away again when on the other side of 
the road he noticed a little man staring hard 
in his direction. He looked again, a sudden 
suspicion flashing through him. 

This person, though short, was stoutly built. 
He wore a black bowler hat, dark coat and 
brown tweed trousers. A little dark moustache 
cut a sharp line across his pallid and some- 
what heavy face. Carey Vermont looked and 
wondered. There was something reminiscent 
about this person. But where had he seen him 
before? 


301 


Ill 


Digby Bbenton leant with both elbows on 
the mantelpiece and earnestly scrutinised his 
own reflection in the mirror. It was a habit 
not founded on vanity. Admiration of what 
he saw was not responsible for the act. He 
was not looking for that which so many peo- 
ple find so easily; rather was there in his gaze 
a look of fear, a dread as of terror lest he 
should find that for which he searched. From 
every possible angle he viewed himself, now 
pressing in close against the glass until his 
breath blurred it. It seemed as though he was 
searching for something in his eyes which 
eluded his scrutiny. From time to time a short 
exclamation of impatience would escape him; 
then again he would smile as if pleased with 
what he found there — or what he did not find. 
Occasionally he pulled the lids low down, show- 
ing a superfluity of red blood beneath. But 
when natural and in repose there was a nar- 
302 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


rowing of the eyes, a brilliant concentration of 
glance which flung suspicion, almost like a 
shadow, across his mind. 

“No,” he muttered, “no! It’s all right now — 
but it might happen.” 

But though, like one who determines to op- 
pose a strong impulse, he would turn resolute- 
ly from the mirror, always he came back to it, 
and always with the same eager, fearful look. 

“I wonder if one can see these things?” 

The thought troubled him and he frowned; 
the mirror reflected the frown, and the thing 
frightened him. 

“Damn you!” he said, apostrophising the 
glass, “I’ll have you cleared out of this,” and 
he shook his fist at himself. The mirror re- 
flected truly, and again he grew serious, sub- 
missive. 

“That’s a foolish thing to do,” he muttered. 
“Would I beat my own face?” 

His mouth curled mockingly; it was as 
though the very devil of things had entered 
into that bitter curve. 

“You’re all right, old boy,” he said, address- 
ing that mocking reflection; “you see the hu- 
mour of the thing. There’s nothing much the 
303 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


matter with a man who sees the humour of 
things.” 

He looked about the richly furnished room 
with admiration; he trod the thick pile carpet 
with a feeling of the utmost satisfaction. The 
place was full of ghosts, but they did not seem 
to trouble him; on the contrary, they appeared 
to be pleasant visitors. Beautiful ghosts many 
of them — to judge from their portraits in heavy 
silver frames. One he caught up from its 
place on a side table and set it in a comer of 
the huge chesterfield. Then he sat down be- 
side it, and a strange smile broke slowly across 
his face. 

“You had wonderful eyes,” he whispered; 
“almost as wonderful as hers. The devil! But 
I’ll bend her yet ! Odd that they should dream 
of being able to flout a man who has made up 
his mind. Which of them ever succeeded? I 
believe they are the only animals who enjoy 
being hunted. Why should she be different 
from the others?” 

He rose, took up the photograph, and put 
it back in its old place. But that thought of 
hunting seemed to awaken other and more 
304 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


pleasant memories. He turned to the side- 
board and helped himself to a whisky and soda. 

“I drink to you,” he said, holding up the 
glass — “I drink to you, dear ghosts of other 
days.” 

He stood, eyes sharp, ears alert, as though 
listening for some response. Out in the street 
a van clattered by; then softly there came up 
to him the jingle of harness bells. His smile 
deepened. He was in a cab rushing through 
the night, and beside him was a woman in 
thick furs who was too frightened to speak. 
She had given him much trouble. He had pur- 
sued her through wood and valley, over stream, 
mountain, but he had brought her to bay at 
last. And the little collar bells were now 
jingling triumphantly. 

“It was good hunting,” he said; “and the 
fool thinks she can escape. Here’s to you, 
Irene. It must come, you know.” 

Her photograph was in the handsomest 
frame of all. It was a wonderful picture, and 
seemed to palpitate with life. There were the 
pouting, scornful lips, the little line between 
the eyes, the heavy brows. And she was look- 
305 


The TV Oman, the Man, and the Monster 


ing out into the world in her fearless, defiant 
fashion. 

He drew closer and closer to it, as though 
by very force of will he would wrest from 
her the secret of her strength. But the closer 
he looked the more scornfully mocking grew 
the lips, the more contemptuous her glance. 

“You devil!” he muttered. “I hate you!” 

He shook his first at that mocking mouth, 
but the eyes seemed to smile insolently at his 
impotence. The word “Roma” was printed 
under the photograph ; his eyes caught it, and 
memory rushed back to the days of their first 
meeting. Slowly he had wandered into the 
hall; without interest he had followed the per- 
formance until she had appeared. To him now 
the rest seemed like a blur, a mist of memory. 
But he remembered that she had not proved 
tedious hunting, and he smiled. She was clev- 
erer than the others — oh, so mightily clever. 
And the trapper was trapped! 

“She had a lovely throat,” he murmured; 
“such a lovely throat.” 

She was showing it there in the photograph, 
slim yet full; moulded exquisitely. The pose 
306 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


was proud, the eyes almost defiant. The curve 
of chin and neck was perfect. A curious, deep- 
meaning look glistened in his eyes as he riveted 
them upon her. 

“Not quite in that way you looked when last 
I saw you,” he said. “You were frightened 
then; the reckoning seemed so near. And have 
I finished with my hunting, do you think? 
Irene,” his voice grew suddenly, passionately 
soft, while through it vibrated a note of the 
utmost intensity, “were the world twice as large 
it would not be big enough to hide you from 
me.” 

To his excited imagination the full mouth 
curved more scornfully; the eyes blazed a 
deeper defiance. 

“Damn you!” he shrieked. “I hate you!” 

He struck her full in the face with his 
•clenched fist. There was a shattering of glass 
and a tiny stream of blood on his fingers. 
Looking round he caught the reflection of his 
face in the mirror, and with a stealthy cat-like 
tread he approached the thing and glared in. 
Then he glanced nervously round as though 
apprehensive of another presence. He turned 
307 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


shuddering from the glass and flung himself 
upon the great sofa. 

“Ghosts!” he moaned hollowly; “the world 
is full of them!” 


IV 


A low tap on the door aroused him. He 
looked up suddenly, made a quick and strenu- 
ous effort to compose himself, and then cried 
out sharply, “Come in!” The man who looked 
after him pushed a pale face through the partly 
open door. His lips moved nervously, appre- 
hensively, as he gazed across at his master. 

“Well?” 

“There is a person below who wishes to see 
you, sir.” 

By his manner of speaking the fellow evi- 
dently wished to convey the impression that 
the visitor did not strike him as being worthy 
of much consideration. 

“Who is he? What name did he give?” 

“Weston, sir.” 

“Show him up at once.” 

The man vanished. Presently another knock 
was heard at the door, a steady and more self- 
confident rapping this time, and the person 
309 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


described as Weston entered, carefully closing 
the door behind him. He was a short, stout 
man with a pallid, heavy face and a dark mous- 
tache. He wore a black coat, brown tweed 
trousers, and carried a bowler hat. 

“So you’ve come at last,” said Brenton, ris- 
ing and facing him. 

“With all possible speed, Sir Digby.” 

There was a suspicion of respectful resent- 
ment in the man’s tone, though this Brenton 
failed to notice, or totally ignored. 

“Well?” 

“I followed him to the Swan at Staines. The 
lady met him at the station.” 

“So!” 

A curious look of triumph shone in Digby 
Brenton’s eyes. He drove his hands deep down 
into his pockets and smiled. Then from a 
silver box which lay near he took a cigarette 
and lit it. Evidently the tobacco added to his 
sense of enjoyment. 

“At the station, you say?” 

“Yes, Sir Digby. She had arrived at the 
Swan the night before, and registered as Mrs. 
Vermont.” 


310 


The W Oman , the Man , and the Monster 


“And you left them there?” This in a tone 
of suspicious irritation. 

“With one of my colleagues on guard.” 

“Ah! Tell me.” 

He lounged into the great sofa and beckoned 
for the man to take a seat before him. 

“He arrived at his flat in a carriage. The 
lady left him there and drove off.” 

“The lady!” 

“A lady, Sir Digby. Passing the door I 
happened to look in. The porter was handing 
him a letter.” 

“Ah!” 

“For perhaps a quarter of an hour or so he 
remained within doors. When he appeared 
again he seemed very excited and called loudly 
for a taxie. I also happened to be passing at 
the same moment and heard the destination 
given. It was Waterloo. I followed in an- 
other taxie, and was behind him at the barrier 
and heard him ask for a ticket for Staines. We 
went down together. She was waiting for 
him.” 

“He did not notice you?” 

“I think not, Sir Digby. It seemed to me 
that he was greatly excited.” 

311 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“So far so good. You will return at once, 
keep a watchful eye on them, and let me know 
of his movements. They are all important just 
now.” 

“Yes, Sir Digby.” 

Cunning eyes looked into cunning eyes. 
There was no doubt of the understanding. 

“Are there any other orders, Sir Digby?” 

“Be careful, that’s all; don’t let them sus- 
pect. And above all things watch him, par- 
ticularly his coming and going. Should he 
chance to leave her alone— you understand, 
alone — let me know at once.” 

Brenton curtly dismissed the man, particu- 
larly avoiding his glance, for he guessed in- 
tuitively that there was something in his own 
face which it would scarcely be politic to let 
a stranger see. But once the door had closed 
behind his agent he made no attempt to check 
the smile which rose to his lips, though his 
laughter was curiously noiseless, as though too 
deep for exuberant expression. 

Crossing the room he picked up the shattered 
photograph and brought it under the light. 
He was met by the same mocking, defiant eyes, 
the same contemptuous curl of the lips; but the 
312 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


broken glass had made a long scratch across 
her throat, and his eyes fastened upon it with 
singular intensity. Then, as though half-con- 
scious of being watched from some odd corner 
of the room by one of those unseen ghosts, and 
fearful lest even the shadows might read his 
thoughts, he threw the photograph face down 
upon the table and turned away. 

He caught a reflection of himself in the mir- 
ror and hastily glanced aside. Curse the thing ! 
Why was it for ever reminding him of what he 
was so anxious to forget? He would not look 
at it. After to-morrow not one should be found 
in his house. He would not look at it ; he would 
cover it up, destroy it, hide it from sight. 

Resolutely he turned his back upon it; he 
walked up and down, now pulling furiously at 
a cigarette, the next moment flinging it savage- 
ly into the empty grate ; now throwing a furtive 
glance across his shoulder in the direction of 
the mirror, and now muttering incoherently. 
Half-smoked cigarettes lay scattered all over 
the room, for no sooner would he light one and 
take a few puffs than he would cast it from 
him with an oath. They smouldered on the 
table, on the glass of the photographs, on the 
313 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


carpet. Savagely he trod them out, as though 
the white roll were the white throat of a woman. 
What a wonderful white throat she had; 
smooth as the inside of a shell, yet palpitating 
with life. And that line of chin, that defiant, 
devilish chin! His lips burned as though con- 
sumed with fire; they hungered and thirsted 
for the touch of that cool white flesh. 

Odd murmurs reached him, like the memory 
of long dead words ; they were breathed at him 
from every corner of the room. Many lands 
swept before his vision, many eyes looked out 
at him from strange, mysterious places. Now 
he w r as in Asia, Africa; amid the glare and 
glitter of the bazaar; the smell and heat of 
the East choked his nostrils. It was Cairo 
now, and now Benares, and he was watching 
the ablutions of the devotees in the Holy River. 
He tried to fix his mind on these, here and 
there to reconstruct in full an incident; the 
tingling of the nautch girl’s ankle rings, the 
twanging of the geisha’s samisen. Again he 
saw across the long dark roll of sea (most won- 
derful of sights!) Fuji peeping through the 
clouds, her snow-white crest tipped with sun 
flame. Now the Sphinx glared stonily at him 
314 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


across the desert, and buried Thebes and lost 
Canopus resounded with royal revels. And 
there, along the Euphrates, where Babylon 
once blazed in splendour! He remembered a 
boatman’s hut by the great river, and a girl 
with grave dark eyes. There was always a 
girl in the picture. Truly he had been a mighty 
hunter of women. And a woman was still 
there, a woman with violet grey eyes and heavy 
creamy lids. And those eyes were flashing de- 
fiance at him even how. They had followed 
him across the world; they would follow him 
into hell. There was no escaping their mocking 
light, no charm that would dispel the memory 
of that scornful mouth. Though he were to 
hide his secret from all other eyes, though he 
were to bury it deep down in the earth and 
pile the Himalayas upon it, yet would she find 
it out and taunt him with those mocking lips. 

His secret! He started, not sure if he had 
uttered the word aloud. Then he flung a 
stealthy, furtive glance to right and left. His 
secret! Had he then a secret? Who said he 
had a secret? Who knew? Not you, or you! 
His eyes wandered round in search of the silent 
ghosts, eventually reaching the mirror. Again 
315 


The Woman , the Man, and the Monster 


he leant his elbows on the mantelpiece and 
glared in, only to step back suddenly with a 
cry of rage. 

“Damn you!” he shrieked, “you know — you 
know!” 

Retreating backwards he struck a table. To 
steady himself he put his hands behind him. 
His fingers came in contact with a heavy old 
brass candlestick, one of the treasures he had 
brought with him from Syria. He caught it 
up and sent it crashing through the mirror. 


316 


V 


Andromeda sat in the dusk at her window 
and looked out upon the street. The evening 
was long and warm, and the lamps were not 
yet lit. She saw the people hurrying by, going 
home, no doubt, and the thought stung m , little, 
for there was pain in it — perhaps also some 
envy. Now and again a motor dashed by, all 
going one way, to London — home! Here a 
shop-boy whistled loudly, inconsequently ; there 
a heavy vehicle lumbered heavily through the 
street. Just below her she could hear the 
preparations of a party of motorists who had 
stopped at the Swan for refreshments. It was 
the last lap on the homeward journey. 

Well, she too was going on a journey, and 
at the thought thereof her eyes softened. She 
had thrashed it all out with Perseus, had of- 
fered him every loophole of escape. But this 
lover of hers had proved no lover of a summer 
day, and her heart was full of gratitude and 
deep affection. 


317 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“I love you, Andromeda,” he repeated. 
“Don’t you understand? You have become 
dearer to me than anything on earth.” 

“Unworthy me.” 

But he would not listen to her self-deprecia- 
tion, and presently she was laughing up into 
his face. This tender lover — how she had 
learnt to adore him! Memory played strange 
pranks; recollection would not be denied. 

“But it’s all past,” she whispered; “for the 
first time in my life I see the light.” 

Again evil had brought forth good. Not the 
good of the creeds and the churches, maybe; 
there was no thought of melodramatic penance, 
no longing for conventional renunciation. This 
love, so lightly approached, had suddenly be- 
come the most serious thing in life. Suddenly 
— no ! She knew now that it had been gradual- 
ly stealing upon her like a sweet stream of 
light. Wild dreams merged into tender real- 
ities ; if she could not be one of the great lovers 
of history, she could be one of the true lovers 
in life. After all, what was there like this love 
for the man whose very being had crept into 
her blood? Great lovers! Was she not, then, 
one of the greatest lovers that ever lived? For 
318 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


his sake she would have borne with a smile the 
acutest agony of mind and body; to protect 
him she would have bartered her life. Yet be- 
ing a woman, and weak even in her strength, 
she prayed that she might live for him and his 
love. She wanted his love; all that he had to 
give. But as yet he must be near her with 
his kind eyes and his gentle, guiding hands. It 
was so infinitely sweet after all to look up, to 
be led. How sweet it was she had never known 
till now. To her it seemed that her life had 
been one long struggle with adverse conditions ; 
she had wilfully trifled with the immortal. And 
now the light of it was upon her, burning, ra- 
diant, transfusing the very blood of her into 
something beyond her dreams. 

They were going abroad, they were quitting 
England until time cleared the way for their 
return. Even now he was in London attending 
to the final preparations, and she was waiting 
there in the slow-growing night for the message 
which should tell her the hour, the moment of 
his return. And slow moments they were, even 
though her dreams were rushing, full. Her 
love had raised every obstacle of which love 
could think, but with a smile he had leapt them 
319 


The TV oman, the Man, and the Monster 


all. Perhaps she had dwelt more upon the 
future than the past, for even love renounces 
with pain; and one must fight for love even 
though one may die for it. It was not what 
had been, but what was to be. 

“I love you, Andromeda,” he said. 

She knew that with that love was a great, a 
wonderful pity. Though he tried to hide it 
her keen eyes searched it out. Yet rather than 
be the object of his charity she would have 
renounced him there and then. Yet she knew 
that of this wonderful pity was the very es- 
sence of his love, the light that sparkled in his 
eyes, the magic that thrilled through his touch. 

“Have you thought of it all — what it all may 
mean? Perseus, let me go if the faintest sus- 
picion of a doubt remains. I have unwound 
the veil of my soul for your eyes to see ; I am 
naked to your gaze, flaw, blot, blemish. There 
is yet time. I know my world ; happy are those 
who do not.” 

“And if I took you at your word?” he said, 
kissing the pink tips of her slender fingers. 

“I cannot tell. But I should not be angry 
with you.” 

He caught her face between his hands and 
320 


The Woman , the Wan , and the Monster 


stared long and earnestly into her eyes. Un- 
flinchingly she bore the scrutiny. Then tender- 
ly he drew her to him and kissed her on the 
forehead. He did not speak, but she trembled 
strangely, joyously, as one might who received 
a sacrament. 

“A holy kiss,” she thought, and her heart 
went out to him, and through the sudden blur 
of tears her eyes shone with a new and mystical 
light. 

“Be careful,” she said as she clung to him; 
“I am afraid.” 

“Of what?” 

“That man. He is dangerous.” 

He laughed. “To himself.” 

“Ah, but be careful, Perseus. You do not 
know him as well as I do, and of what he 
might be capable. I am sure that there was 
madness in his eyes.” 

“The madness of conceit and ruffled vanity. 
To-morrow, Andromeda, to-morrow we shall 
spread our wings.” 

“I wish to-morrow was here.” 

A great restlessness was upon her; without 
him the place seemed horribly lonesome. By 
turns she grew nervous and defiant. The room 
321 


The Woman, the Man , and the Monster 


chilled her; she hated it, yet she dared not ven- 
ture abroad. A step in the passage outside, a 
voice on the stair, caused her to start and turn 
sharply. Never had she known a like nervous- 
ness. Hitherto her head had gone up and her 
chin out at the thought of danger; she had 
been a bold and determined fighter in the bat- 
tle of life, had given blow for blow, nor asked 
for quarter, nor expected it. But now of a 
sudden she had grown timorous, fearful, as 
though that which she at length had found 
might be taken from her. Harshness, indignity 
had but stiffened her determination; tender- 
ness, consideration, love brought uppermost 
the delicate attributes of her sex. She trembled 
for him as a mother might for her child. There 
was no thought of self in her fears, in her 
musings, except perhaps the thought that to 
lose him now would be like losing all. Rather 
was there a vague dread that in some manner 
harm might come to him through that mad- 
man. For while she despised her husband she 
dreaded him still more. Of his violence she 
had many bitter experiences, but not until her 
return to England did she know that he had 
ever been called “Mad Brenton.” The name 
322 


The W oman , the Man, and the Monster 


explained much that had been a mystery to 
her. 

“My dear,” her friend Lady Merivale had 
once said to her, “how did you ever come to 
marry that dreadful creature?” She might 
have told, but she would not; there are here 
and there little things which we keep to our- 
selves. But those once cogent reasons which 
urged her to marry seemed less assertive now. 
If she had only waited! How many women 
have thought the same thought, uttered the 
same wish? 

And so she sat by the window thinking it all 
out, and the night grew, and a sudden strange 
stillness seemed to roll across the earth. 


323 


VI 


Startled from her reverie she sat up, ears 
alert. Then she shook her head and smiled. 
She was for ever fancying things, for ever 
dreaming of dangerous possibilities. Even 
now the thought was upon her that she was 
not alone. Was that the click of a lock or the 
sound of a footstep? Sounds dissimilar enough, 
in all conscience, yet suggested by she knew 
not what. 

Again that sensation of fear shot through 
her, a suggestion of indefinite danger. Sure 
now that she was not alone, yet conscious of 
an unworthy nervousness, she rose hastily to 
her feet and glanced timorously round the 
half-darkened room, her ears sharpened by ex- 
pectation. But though she heard nothing she 
was none the less convinced of another pres- 
ence. Save for the occasional rattle of some 
vehicle in the street the stillness was most pro- 
found. 


324 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“Who’s there?” she called. 

The tremor in her voice startled her; a 
curious sensation of fear seemed to set quiver- 
ing the flesh at the back of her neck. Then 
with a determination to probe the mystery, 
though still entertaining some contempt for 
her fears, she swiftly crossed the room and 
flung open the folding doors. Her husband 
stood smiling in the entrance. 

She stepped back with a gasp; he followed 
her into the room, carefully closing the doors 
behind him. 

“You seem surprised to see me,” he said. 

“How did you get here?” 

“Through the door, of course. How did 
you suppose I came?” 

“What do you want?” 

“Now what do you imagine a husband would 
want? Sit down and I’ll tell you. No, please, 
not quite so near the bell. You are such a 
headstrong creature — and we must not be in- 
terrupted.” 

“I have nothing to say to you.” 

“But I have a lot to say to you, so you can 
let me do the talking. You were really never 
a good listener; a common failing of your ador- 

325 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


able sex. I am sorry. I hope I shan’t bore 
you. I hate to bore anyone — more particular- 
ly a charming woman.” 

He spoke in a manner that was wholly for- 
eign to him, with an airy indifference which 
struck her as being infinitely incongruous. Her 
eyes sought his, and through the half gloom 
she saw them scintillate. 

A great fear struck her like a blow in the 
face, a blow on the breast. Unconsciously her 
hands went up ; she pressed hard on her bosom 
as if to still its throbbing. And all the time 
her thoughts ran: “The madman! How can 
I elude him? When will Perseus come?” Why 
had she let him go? Why had she not jour- 
neyed with him to London as he had sug- 
gested? 

He came closer to her. 

“You look fagged, my dear. Won’t you 
sit down?” 

It was a command, a command which she 
dared not disobey. There was a steady cold 
authority in his tone which struck her as being 
singularly ominous. Thoughts of revolt 
flashed through her mind. Why should she 
succumb to this sudden and inexplicable fear 
326 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


of him? In all their bickerings she had never 
shown the white feather. Scorn had been met 
with scorn, hate with hate. Lack of courage 
had never been one of her failings. Yet she 
quivered with apprehension. Nor at that mo- 
ment did she guess the true reason of that in- 
comprehensible terror. 

Without protest she seated herself in an 
armchair, her back to the window. He dropped 
easily on to the sofa and faced her, his eyes in 
hers, his fingers carelessly twirling his mous- 
tache. She thought it looked heavy and for- 
bidding in the semi-gloom, and once it had 
almost found favour in her eyes. She was con- 
scious of the banality of the thought, conscious 
of a multiplicity of thoughts which bore no 
direct relation to the one thought which was 
of paramount importance. 

“The days are drawing in,” he said. She 
could almost have smiled at the remark; yet 
she nodded affirmatively. “Have you any ob- 
jection to the light?” 

“None whatever.” 

“You never had, if I remember.” 

What did it matter? Every minute was 
327 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


precious now; every moment brought Perseus 
nearer. 

He rose and switched on the electric light; 
then he crossed to the window and dropped 
the blinds. 

“That’s better; much more cosy. You’re 
not cold?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“My mistake. I thought you were shiver- 
ing.” 

He smiled, and for the first time she saw 
him as he really was. Within the last few 
days he had seemed to age ten years. His loose, 
heavy underlip had tightened to the teeth, 
shortening the lower jaw in a particularly re- 
pellent fashion. An added tinge of greyness 
seemed weirdly to patch his complexion. But 
the eyes were strangest of all, his glance con- 
centrated, fierce, unnaturally bright. 

“He is quite mad,” she thought; “what shall 
I do with him?” But she succeeded in staring 
back at him with an affected indifference. In 
all their many battles of will he had never 
conquered. He must not conquer now. 

“Do you know, Irene,” he was saying in his 
ordinary voice, “it seems to me that it is time 
328 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


we made some serious attempt to understand 
each other. I admit that at times I have been 
passionate, irresponsible; but I think you will 
also admit that there have been times when 
you would provoke a saint. No offence; but 
this is scarcely the occasion for false delicacies. 
You must remember that you are my wife.” 

“Have you not done your best to make me 
forget it?” 

“That is the one thing a woman should never 
forget. The perfect woman would never for- 
get it.” 

“Like so much between us, we may hold 
different views of perfection.” 

“Quite possibly. Only please spare me a 
confession. I really hate them — confessions, 
apologies, and the like. They are indicative 
of mental weakness. Such, however, was never 
your failing. You are not listening.” 

“Yes, I am listening.” 

“But not to me.” He smiled. “Curious 
that, for this is really most important; the 
most important proposition that has been put 
to you for a long time. I want you to weigh 
it well, to consider it in all its aspects. Frank- 
ly, does it not seem to strike you as unreason- 
329 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


able that I should permit this sort of thing 
to go on?” 

“What do you want?” 

“You. I have come for you now.” 

“I cannot go with you.” 

“You mean you will not?” 

“Put it that way if you like. There is noth- 
ing between us — nothing.” 

“Not even duty?” 

“I gave you duty even when I could no 
longer give you honour or respect.” 

“Yet you must come back with me, Irene. 
I’m sorry, hut it’s something I owe myself. 
Come, put on your hat and things. The car’s 
waiting near the bridge. We’ll go back to 
town — or wherever you like. Nor must you 
harbour malice, nor remember unpleasant 
things. I was jealous, and your indifference 
made me furious. I think you are very beauti- 
ful, Irene; you know I always admired that 
exquisite throat of yours. Well, I admire it 
still. I think you have the loveliest throat 
in the world.” 

She was more frightened of him now than 
she had ever been. The very madness of lust 
was burning in his eyes ; his loose mouth worked 
330 


The Woman , the Man , <md 77/e Monster 


in a revolting manner. Thought after thought 
flashed pellmell through her brain. Vainly 
she looked about her for some method of es- 
cape; vainly she listened for a step on the 
stair, a hand at the door. If Perseus would 
come — if he would only come! 

“That chin of yours is wonderful, Irene; I 
must kiss that scornful mouth to subjection. 
It is a long time since you have kissed me — 
and you are my wife. Come, kiss me now, 
and tell me how sorry you are. We’ll let by- 
gones be bygones, only you must be more cir- 
cumspect in the future. You see, you are my 
wife, and Lady Brenton is a woman of stand- 
ing in the county. But we’ll say no more 
about that since it distresses you. No one 
detests more than I these mutual recrimina- 
tions, or these unceasing references to what is 
past, dead. You are superb, Irene. How 
could you think I would let you slip out of my 
life . . . into the arms of another? You 

of all women.” 

She sat staring at him, fascinated. But no 
words came; perhaps it seemed that words 
would serve her little in this instance. Yet 
through her mind a half-fledged thought was 
331 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


painfully winging its way. Perseus might re- 
turn now at any moment, or at least a message 
might come for her. At all costs she must gain 
time. 

He sat between her and the door; to reach 
the bell she knew would be impossible. Also 
he had carefully shut the window when he had 
pulled down the blinds. 

“I wonder what he would do if I were to 
scream?” she thought. 

Screaming might but precipitate the catas- 
trophe. He was watching her with eyes that 
seemed to read her very thoughts. Indeed, she 
scarcely doubted that he was reading them. 
There was a cunning look of prescience in his 
glance which almost paralysed her. Added to 
the craftiness of the madman were gleams of 
a super-intelligence. She felt as a castaway 
who knows that the light plank is sinking be- 
neath him. 

Perhaps some of this horror showed itself in 
her face. Certain it is that a curiously trium- 
phant smile played over his pallid features. 
He nestled more comfortably into the corner 
of the sofa as though the better to enjoy the 
sensation. 


332 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


“You are not frightened, Irene?” 

“What should I be frightened of?” 

“What indeed! One could never accuse you 
of wanting pluck. Whatever your failings, a 
lack of courage is not one of them. You will 
admit that among the many who have admired 
your superb qualities, no one has been a greater 
admirer than I. Even now, though you treat 
me with such infinite disdain, my admiration 
has become such an obsession that I am will- 
ing to extend the hand of friendship. I admit 
these things are exceedingly difficult to ex- 
plain ; there are certain human actions, as there 
are certain casts of thought, which defy all 
rational explanation. To be frank with you, 
I don’t think I ever understood you till now. 
It always seemed to me as though a veil had 
been dropped between us, which at times 
seemed almost to hide you, but through which 
I was occasionally permitted to see your eyes 
burning. Occasionally, too, I have been per- 
mitted to lift a corner of that veil, but nothing 
more than a corner. Now of a sudden the 
whole thing is swept aside and I see you as 
you are. There is not a shred of gossamer be- 
tween your soul and me. And yet I am not 
333 


The W oman , the Man , and the Monster 


sure.” Wearily he passed his hand across his 
eyes. “Even when we gaze into the infinite 
we are blinded by its immensity. Beyond our 
farthest star they say there is another star; 
so beyond our infinite thought stretches a 
vaster infinity. But if this be so, can there 
be no end to things — not even to life? Have 
you ever thought of death, Irene?” She 
shuddered, but made no reply. His eyes shone 
into hers with singular insistence. “Many 
strange thoughts come to a lonely man. You 
have no idea how lonely a man may feel at 
times, especially when he is in a big city. I 
was never lonely when I was in Syria, or in 
the Arabian deserts, but in London I positively 
pine for companionship.” 

She listened to him like one spellbound in 
a horrible dream. Yet through it all she knew 
that she welcomed his inconsequent ravings. 

“Surely Perseus is coming now,” she 
thought; “there can be nothing more to de- 
tain him. He has not sent a message because 
he does not wish to put me to the inconven- 
ience and the risk of going out. His intention 
is to surprise me. But he must have started 
334 


The Woman , the Man , and the Monster 


before this. He may be here at any moment. 
Go on, talk on, madman ; I am listening.” 

Inscrutable was the smile that played round 
his eyes, that curled his lip ever so slightly. 
Had his insanity then gifted him with super- 
intelligence? Could he read the thought, the 
hope that was playing at the back of her mind? 

“You have not answered my question, 
Irene.” 

“Your question?” she echoed weakly. 

“Yes.” 

His look of supreme craftiness did not 
escape her. But she must dally with him. Who 
could tell at what tangent his mind would 
shoot off? In his wandering lay her only hope 
of salvation. This mad brain was athrob with 
an abiding grievance. There could be no doubt 
of the part she had to play. 

Yet she did not ask the nature of that ques- 
tion. 

“Tell me of your travels in Arabia,” she 
said. 

For a moment he seemed to gaze blankly into 
space. Clearly his mind was shooting off now; 
and every moment was precious, more precious 
than all the riches of the world. But almost 
335 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


instantly he was looking at her again, and there 
was a deeper cunning in his eyes. 

“I have seen death in many lands, under 
many shapes,” he said slowly, as one who is 
drawing with some difficulty a memory from 
the past, “but no one faces it with greater 
courage than the devout follower of the 
Prophet. Of course the poor devil is all wrong 
in his theology; but it has this supreme merit — 
when the time comes he is not afraid to die. 
Kismet, he says, and with an idiotic smile on 
his face turns over, and the door is closed be- 
hind him. It’s a fine word, kismet, and avoids 
all necessity for lengthy and involved explana- 
tions.” 

“Perseus, Perseus,” she moaned, “come; for 
the love of God come to me now!” 

“In death, in life; war, love, defeat, triumph, 
kismet explains all. Do you know the word, 
Irene?” 

A lump in her throat choked the reply, but 
she nodded mutely, like an animal that is struck 
dumb with terror. 

“It is written. All things are written — even 
this.” 

“This!” 


336 


The Woman, the 31 an, and the 31onster 


A weird flash, like the light of an unholy 
knowledge, played across his face. Through 
that light she saw the desperate resolve. There 
was no hope for her now, not even the least 
vestige. And yet her quick brain, rarely at 
fault, was striving to find a way out. To rise, 
to scream, would but precipitate matters. The 
man, however mentally afflicted, was still 
physically powerful, and she knew that mad- 
ness added strength. That way there was no 
outlet. In a moment those great lean fingers 
would choke the life out of her. Desperately 
she looked round the room, his desperate eyes 
following her. Almost it seemed as if he read 
her thoughts, and that he found the process 
entertaining. 

“Irene!” 

“Yes.” 

“You once were kind to me.” 

She started, but could not wholly suppress 
the gasp that rose in her throat. 

“You, too, were kind once,” she answered 
in a low tremulous tone. 

“Let me be kind again.” 

Was it the cue — the heaven-sent word? 

Her heart almost stopped beating. 

337 


VII 


Never for a second did the fierce sullen 
glare fade out of his eyes. Like two burning 
caverns they seemed to her, mysterious hollows 
of smouldering doom. If she had never lacked 
courage it was well for her now. 

“We have been working at cross-purposes,” 
she began. “Is it not possible for us to come 
to a clearer and more perfect understanding?” 

“That is the whole gist of the situation,” 
he answered with a laugh, a laugh which had 
a lingering suspicion of mockery in it. “You 
never did understand me.” 

“But what if I understand you now?” 

Her lips were smiling; her eyes seemed to 
entice the very soiil out of him. With a ges- 
ture, indicative of sudden and inexplicable ter- 
ror, he shrank back as if to escape her. But 
his eyes were still glued to hers, and presently 
reason seemed to assert itself. 

“You are a liar,” he cried harshly; “your 
338 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


eyes are as false as your tongue. There is no 
truth in you — there never was. It is time an 
end was put to your follies. To-day I came 
here with a set purpose. Can you guess what 
it was?” 

“It was your love that called you — Digby.” 
The word almost choked her. “You remem- 
bered that you had treated me unkindly, and 
you came to make atonement.” 

“I came to kill you,” he said. 

“To kill me! Why should you kill me?” 
And even while she thought he was about to 
spring, deep down in her soul the dumb cry 
was raging: “Perseus, Perseus, come to me! 
For the love of God come to me!” 

“Because you are not fit to live; because I 
think it is the only way out, the only way to 
save you and others from further suffering.” 

“Would the killing of me make you happy?” 

“It would be an act of justice.” 

“But you would lose me too, Digby, and I 
don’t want to be lost to you. To kill me is to 
end all — when there might be so much happi- 
ness for both of us.” 

She drew her chair close to him, but with a 
gesture of disdain he waved her back. 

339 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


“Jezebel! Do you think I can’t see through 
those false eyes of yours into that false heart? 
The veil is lifted. I see into every throbbing 
cell of your polluted soul, and I know you 
now for what you are.” 

She smiled reassuringly. 

“If you can see into my soul, Digby, I am 
no longer afraid.” 

“Yet it seems to me that you should be the 
more afraid,” he answered slowly, with per- 
haps a touch of bewilderment. “Why are you 
less afraid?” 

“Because if you can see into my soul you 
must see the love that is there for you.” He 
scowled ominously. “Ah, then you cannot see! 
You are trifling with me. It is really your 
wish that I should be misunderstood.” 

“No, no,” he ejaculated, a little confusedly; 
“my wish is to understand. It is you who be- 
wilder me, you who would lead me from the 
path I have mapped out — the just, straight 
path. Take those devilish eyes away. They 
are eating into my heart.” 

“There was a time when you professed to 
admire them. Have they grown dim, old, 
ugly? Am I so hideous as to have lost all 
340 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


favour with you? Have I grown cold, do you 
think?” 

“You were always cold to me,” he snarled, 
“whatever you were to others.” 

A curiously penitent smile crossed her face. 

“Perhaps I asked for more love than you 
ever offered ; perhaps I was half afraid of my- 
self. A woman can never be sure that she 
knows herself; how then can a man know her? 
But what if that self-knowledge has come to 
me at last — what if I know that I can make 
you happy?” 

“Still I shall kill you,” he said; “there can 
be no doubt then.” 

“But if you kill me you will destroy your 
own chance of happiness. Is it love you want, 
Digby? Then let me give you love— love that 
burns like fire, that thrills the brain, that mad- 
dens the blood. All this I can give you; all 
this I will give you.” 

A gleam, even more hateful than that of 
madness, began to burn in his glance. Yet 
her gaze never faltered; the alluring smile 
added a subtler fascination to the bewitching 
mouth. Through her red lips the very breath 
of passion seemed to pant for freedom. Grad- 
341 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


ually she drew closer to him ; deftly her fingers 
worked at the laces around her throat. She 
saw his eyes fasten greedily on her smooth 
white flesh. 

“By God!” he groaned, and shuddered as 
though he had been struck. 

Imperceptibly she crept closer to him until 
her bosom throbbed against his knees. 

“Since I can no longer be of service to you,” 
she said, “do as you will.” 

Swiftly he stooped down, caught her up in 
his arms, and buried his face in her neck. 

She struggled, though she knew the folly, 
the madness of the act. But with her struggles 
his fury seemed to increase. He blinded her 
with kisses ; it seemed as though he would tear 
her to pieces in his fierce insanity. And then 
as suddeny he flung her to the floor and rose, 
glowering about him like a furious and evil 
spirit. 

“It’s a lie!” he snarled. 

But even this rebuff did not daunt her. 
Slowly she picked herself up, gathered her 
scattered wits. Now more than ever was needed 
resource, cunning — any aid to victory. Afar 
off, through the dim buzzing of her brain, she 
342 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


seemed to catch the light echo of a well-known 
step. Though there was no anger in the eyes 
which looked up into his, there was that in 
them which he failed entirely to see. 

“Perseus, come, come,” she moaned. But 
she said aloud, “Why should it be?” 

“What has brought this change?” he asked. 

“Love,” she said, and nearly choked in the 
saying of it. 

“Are you sure it is not fear?” 

“Of what?” 

He laughed. “Come here; let me look at 
you.” Once more he seated himself on the 
sofa and drew her to him. “It’s a lovely 
throat, Irene. Pity that it should be a nest 
of lies.” He put his hand into her bosom and 
laughed again. “And so you’re not afraid?” 

“Why should I be?” 

But she could not look into his eyes. It 
seemed as though the very life of her was 
slowly ebbing out. 

“Why, as to that I don’t know.” He 
laughed again, and this time the sound of it 
was shrill with madness. “Yet it would be 
strange if we came together again, we who 
have been so long apart.” 

343 


The Woman , the Wan, arid the Monster 


“Have we not come together again? What 
is there left for me to do? Out of your gener- 
osity has come my salvation.” 

“Salvation, yes. A good word. We all need 
it badly. And generosity!” He chuckled hor- 
ribly. “Ah, an admirable superstition. But 
I am still a little bewildered.” He pushed her 
away from him and stared at her with hungry 
eyes. “If one could be sure, be sure. But 
how is one to be sure of anything?” 

Uncertainty wavered in his glance. He 
pushed the fingers of his right hand into his 
mouth and chewed savagely at the nails. The 
action was replete with horror, but she bore 
it without sign of protest. For there was more 
terror in this insane wavering, this futile 
mouthing of ideas, than in all his brutal fury 
of passion. 

“How shall I convince you?” she asked. 

It all meant time, and every moment was 
growing more precious. Outside the traffic 
was ceasing. Even the ubiquitous errand boy 
with his blatant whistle had quitted the streets. 
It would be dark now, and all the lamps alight. 
And still Perseus lingered. 

344 


The Woman, the Man, and the Monster 


Would he never come! Would he never 
come! 

“Ah,” he said, “I think I am already con- 
vinced. Curious that two apparently sane 
creatures should so misunderstand each other. 
If I could only be sure that you love me.” 

“But I do love you,” she said. 

“Then let that be your last lie,” he replied, 
and caught her in his arms. 

Though her whole soul revolted she did not 
struggle. It was for Perseus’s sake, for the 
love of him who had grown so dear. 

He pressed his lips to hers and held them 
there, and his kisses sounded like the snarlings 
of a wolf. Then almost before she knew what 
was happening his fingers crept up over her 
shoulders and round her throat. Too late she 
realised his meanings and tried to scream, to 
break from him. The great thumbs were press- 
ing her like a vice ; two mad eyes were glaring 
triumphantly into hers. 

With the point of his boot he turned the 
lifeless figure on its back. 

“It was a pity,” he muttered. “She had a 
most superb throat.” 


345 





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